And so it begins anew

Conversations with My Beloved. Hours spent on the phone. Understandings achieved. Retrospective awareness of the necessity of separation and the unnecessary pain we perpetuated out of our grief. The ending of our relationship was as real a loss as the death of a loved one. We'd spent 7 years together and who we were was lost as well so there was a struggle to form independent identities. And my weirdnesses, some of which were caused by 4 deaths within 18 months of our break-up, and some of which was a matter of him becoming conscious of things that had always been so but unquestioned while we were together. Like mind-reading and emotional connections over distances. My calling and leaving weird messages like "I have a feeling that something intense is going on with you -- are you ok?" When he was indeed going through something intense. The scientist in him could not find a rational explanation as to "why" and he was spooked by the implications. Relief that each is doing well, thriving, in fact. Wanting to meet up soon to exchange hugs.  So much delight. I look forward to getting to know each other again, after nearly a decade.

I used to feel like an outsider in the world and in my own life because I experienced the world so differently from so many people. I saw things people didn't see, smelled things people couldn't smell, sensed things people thought I shouldn't feel. It is the curse of having a sensory array that has a broader spectrum than most people -- like someone whose eyes can discern a broader spectrum of wave-lengths and sees colors that do not exist for others. Like hearing the earth singing at dawn. The one-eyed man in the land of the blind, I nearly stoned myself to death, wishing I was deaf and blind and dumb.

I was saved by my inner mystic, who defied my inner scientist to prove that the evidence of my own experiences were false. I met extraordinary people. Went into therapy. Studied agnostic Buddhism and quantum physics and human sexuality and psychology and philosophy. Meditated. Broadened my experiences of Polyamory. Learned to trust my intuitions, my perceptions, my sensitivities. Discovered the SENG site. Completed the Landmark Curriculum for Living.  Found soul-satisfying intimacy through Love Tribe and the sacred through tantra and ecstatic dance. Made peace with my fears, my past, the voice in my head, death, uncertainty, and suffering.  Most of all, suffering. And fell in-love :) Yes, that was the best part of my transformation -- falling in love with someone who is amazing in his own way as I am in mine.

And into this stumbles my ex. My beloved. It seems he arrived here, at my blog, via a chain of coincidences that seem almost contrived. As if there is something at work in his life, guiding him here. He mentions to me things that have happened recently and asks if they aren't weird and is confounded to hear that it is part of my daily life, my reality, and that it is my understanding that it is part of everyone's -- it's just they aren't open to it so they don't notice it.

I understand why he has been drawn back into my life. It seems he is ready to accept the pain of opening to his own considerable gifts, a transformational experience I am deeply familiar with. I am reminded of something Anais Nin once said,  “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” The question I have for myself is "why have I drawn him into my life?" And the answer probably lies with my inner child, who felt abandoned by her mother and her soul-mate. I was inconsolable for years, and while I developed the tools and skills to heal myself,  my understanding is still incomplete. There are stories to be heard, blindspots to be revealed, and possibilities to be created. I feel certain of it.
-------------------------
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The monogamist and the polyamorist speak

"How was your vacation?" a woman friend asked.
I closed my eyes and sighed voluptuously. "Wonderful. Mr X was amazing."
My friend gasped. "But what about Mr M?"
I frowned a little, confused by her question. "Mr M and I are still an item."
She looked like her brain hurt. "Both??"
"You know I'm poly..." I told her.
"Yes, but I don't get it. I thought you loved Mr M."
"I do. Very much."
"Then why someone else?"
"I love Mr X, too. And Ms Y, and Mr Z."
"I'm so confused," she almost-wailed.
I took her hand. "I love you. We've shared the same bed. Snuggled up, touched, shared comfort and tears. Most people would think we were lovers, that our friendship crosses certain 'boundaries', right?"
"Yes, but..."
"But its not like that, right? Or, but they don't understand. Or, but its natural. Or, but we love each other like sisters. Being poly isn't about sex. I'm not a swinger. I love. Sometimes that love expresses itself sexually. Most of the time it doesn't. "
"But you've got someone in your life who loves you so much, Kay, and you love him."
"Yes."
"So why don't you settle down with him? Why other people?"
"One person cannot be all things to another--not for extended periods of time. Besides, why keep all my love just to ourselves? I mean, by your logic, if I can't still be loving with Mr X and Mr Z because of my relationship with Mr M, then I shouldn't be loving with you, or Ms Y, either."
"That's different. We're not sexually involved."
"It doesn't matter. It feels good--being with you feels good. And it seems like the dominant culture thinks that if you are in a relationship with someone and you enjoy feeling good with someone else, you're being bad."
She looked thoughtful. "That is a bit of a stretch, Kay."
"Oh really?" I leaned forward. "What if you were a man. Or I was. Would feeling good with me --you know-- massaging, hugging, laughing, talking, sleeping together -- would feeling good with me be something your Mr M would have problems with?"
"Well, of course."
"Why of course?"
"Why?"
"Yes, why? Why does a change in gender change the acceptability of us being loving with each other?"
"Because it could lead to sex."
"Sweetie, I'm bi. I like women and men. So by your logic, you and I shouldn't snuggle and we certainly shouldn't sleep in the same bed together."
"Oh Kay, don't be silly. Its not like that between us."
"No, it isn't. You know that, and I know that, but people outside our relationship don't. They draw their own conclusions, right or wrong."
"So what does that have to do with Mr M and Mr X?"
"Only Mr M and I really know what our relationship is. The same with me and Mr X, and me and you. I love, sweetie. I don't have sex with everyone I love. But I love everyone I have sex with. And whether or not I'm having sex with someone is of far less importance than loving them and being the best possible person I can be in that relationship."
"It makes sense when you apply it in terms of you, but I don't see how it works out in the real world."
"I think it probably works as well as or better than monogamy. Time will tell which works better, serial monogamy, or polyamory."
She nodded, looked thoughtful for a moment. A sly, somewhat furtive expression lighted her face and she leaned forward. In a whisper, she asked, "So who is better in bed, Mr M or Mr X?"
"I've no idea," I answered.
"You've lost me again," she said.
"I know. Lets leave it that way."

Jealousy, posessiveness, fear, change, LOVE

Possessiveness, territoriality, the hoarding mentality -- those things have always been so difficult for me to handle in loving relationships. When I was a child, I learned that the harder I tried to hold onto something I feared losing, the more of a certainty that fear became. So I simultaneously arrived at two things: In recognizing that loss was inevitable, I stopped fearing it. And, perhaps fatalistically, I prepared for it. In my past three long term relationships, which ran from 1988 through 2004, I had the same conversations with each of them: That nothing lasts forever, that no one person can be all things to another, that attraction to others is inevitable, that if one of us meets someone else we will be happier with, we should give our blessings to them. The happiness and well-being of the ones I love is essential to my own.

And so I find myself in a relationship with a man whose love makes me a little bit giddy. Who says the sweetest, corniest things that lure my inner child to come out and play. Who has more kindness and constancy in him than I had thought possible in someone of our generation. A man who devilishly plays with my libido like it is a cross between a lute and a cat's toy. He delights in me, melts at my touch, makes me laugh, and supports me. But he also wants me all to himself. And therein lies the very heart of the problem.

I've asked him for 6 months. Give me 6 months. There is a lot going on in my life, my world, and choosing him--which something in me very much wants to do and at the same time is very afraid to do--would be a huge change in my life. Not just a change from polyamory to monogamy, but a change in place, which would mean leaving my community. But when I ask myself what I want, more and more, I find myself answering "him", and when I think about it, I recognize that if I do not choose "us", then I'll always wonder what might have been.

Where does the desire for personal freedom and self-expression find itself when two people merge their lives to form an exclusive partnership? I remember what happened to it when I was younger, less secure in myself, more eager to 'fix' others or to 'make them happy.' I am so far from that place, and yet , I know that it is my daily rituals, my affirmations of self and non-self, my me-time, the pure freedom to be spontaneous--that it is these things which maintain the self I know as 'me' me. And I have seen how easy it is to slide out of healthy habits and ways of being, to let things slip for love, and I find myself conflicted, clinging almost jealously to my current life and way of being in the face of... love. There is tremendous possibility there. I love him like I have never loved another, in ways I never thought possible for me, and I know myself for 10 kinds of a fool if I pass up those possibilities out of fear or possessiveness.

"Mine. I am mine. No one claims me. No one owns me," my inner child says while at the same time she reaches out to him, teases him, shares with him. Loves him.

I like things just the way they are, and yet I know that change is inevitable. He won't keep forever like a doll in a glass case. He's a person with his own needs and desires. I suppose I am faced with the choices we all are: shall I sit on the side of the path and wait for Life to happen and choose for me? Or shall I take action and choose for myself what I want from Life, even knowing the path I choose to walk may not lead where I wanted?

I am reminded of the final words of a poem by slam-poet Shane Koyczan that go something like this: "Its a game. You play, you win. You play, you lose. You play. The world is a window that holds a sign. There is 'help wanted' out there but if you are playing to win, the first thing you have to do is 'apply within'."

Six months. Six months to wrestle with my choices and then take a stand for my own happiness, for what I want for myself and my life. Six months. 180 days. So many days. Why does it feel like so little time?

WWKD?

[Listen to the podcast here]

So, if there is anything I really despise, it is sexual blackmail.

Recently I overheard a conversation between two women with whom I am acquainted, a conversation that ended with:
"....and he forgot to take out the garbage two weeks in a row! So that's it. No sex for a week."
I shook my head.
I said. "Oh, I'd handle that very differently."
She said "Oh?"
I said "Yes," and then waited.
She took the bait. She said, "What would Kay do?"
I grinned and said, "I'd tell him we were going to have sex morning and night every day for two weeks."
"That's not a punishment!" she exclaimed.
"Really?" I said and arched an eyebrow. "I didn't say he could cum."
That shocked her speechless. Hee hee.

(edit: This entry was referenced by Figleaf in his Real Adult Sex blog)

Conversation on feeling Loved (I know)

I snuggled up to him, pressed my face into his shoulder, took a deep breath, and exhaled with a contented sound, my voice vibrating into him.
"You remind me of a cat purring," he said.
"Mmmmm," I responded.
I tightened my arms around him in an embrace that was not quite a hug.
"You know..." he said.
"Mmmm hmmm," I answered, willing his brain to turn off. I love geeks, but sometimes their mouths flap like the turnkey on a toy as their minds unwind.
"...when I'm with you I feel loved." He put emphasis on the word feel.
"Oh?" I lifted my head and looked at him.
"Yes, there is a difference between knowing I am loved and feeling loved."
I grinned at him. I wanted to say Its about time! but instead said: "Go on."
"I know my parents love me, I know my wife loves me, I know my children love me. But with you, its different. I feel it. I feel loved and accepted by you in ways I've never felt before."
"And how does that feel?"
"Good.... Peaceful.... Free..."
I squeezed him again, let my fingers trail over the fine hairs on his hand.
"How do you do that?" he asked.
"Do what?"
"Make me feel it." Again that emphasis on the word feel.
"Its simple, really." I looked him straight in the eyes. He has beautiful eyes. He has beautiful everything, this man, this friend of the heart. "I love you."
"I love you, too," he answered.
We held each other for a long moment.
"Do you feel it?" he asked.
"Sometimes," I answered.
"Only sometimes?" he sounded a bit forlorn.
"I know you love me. And sometimes I feel it," I answered carefully. I felt myself tightening up a bit, worried about where the conversation was going, and how I was going to explain without hurting his feelings.
"You hoard love. You treat it like a commodity, like you are afraid you will run out of it if you aren't careful. "
"Hmmm.... I do?"
"Yes, you do. And until you give love freely, give love like your goal is to give it all away by the end of the day, people aren't going to feel it from you that way."
"I am afraid..." he said.
"I know." I said, simply. And I did know.
"There was this girl..."
"I know."
"I've never told you about her."
"I know. But I still know."
"How?"
"Because everyone is afraid, and everyone has a 'there was this girl or there was this boy' in their past." I squeezed him. "It doesn't matter."
"It doesn't?"
"Well... it only matters because you think it does."
"Sometimes Kay, you are an infuriating woman."
"I told you once that I was one of America's most frustrating women and you didn't believe me." I bit him lightly through his shirt.
"Once upon a time there was this girl," I said, spinning the story,"and you loved her very much. And something happened, and you were very hurt. It was your first real try at love and it hurt so badly you decided that never again would you let anyone in so close, that never again would you let yourself love that way again."
"You know."
"Yes, dear. I know."
"You had a 'there was this guy'?"
"Yes, and a 'there was this girl', too..."
"How did you... you know... how did you learn to love like that again?"
"I accepted that I was afraid, and chose not to let it stop me..." I started to say something else and then stopped.
"And...?" he prompted.
"And... well... I stopped trading in love. I started seeing the beauty in everyone, and loving that about them, loving them without strings. And then I started sending it to them, that love, just putting it out there, the thought-form that they were loved for who they were. I remembered what it was like to be a child and chose to love people like a child does."
"What else?" he shook me a little.
"Love divided multiplies. The more I love the more love I feel. The more love I feel, the more love I have to give, the more love I receive."
"I noticed that about you."
"Noticed what?"
"That you wanted only one thing from me."
I frowned at him. "Oh?"
"Yup. You just wanted me to let you love me."
I got tears in my eyes. I wrapped my arms and legs around him the best I could and I kissed him.
"Thank you for letting me love you," I said.
"Thank you for loving me so much I can feel it."
"My pleasure."
"Speaking of pleasure..." he moved against me a bit. He was tumescent.
I smiled. "Loving and being loved is a big turn on, sweetie. But I'm not here for sex."
He gave me a hard kiss. "You sure?"
I rubbed my mound against his thigh to let him know that I felt the charge, too. "Positive."
"Ok.... I had to try," he sounded half-amused and half-apologetic.
"I know," I said and snuggled back into him, my face pressed into his shoulder. I know.

Phone call.

His was the last number I called from the airport.

"I'm here."

"Where is 'here'?"

"I'm walking up the ramp from my plane."

"Oh good! You're close."

"I am?"

"Yes, I'm at the marina, just put the boat back in the water."

"I thought you were keeping it in dry-dock til next year."

"Meet me here?"

"I'm tired, Kurt."

"I know, but I want to see you, see how you are doing."

"I'm tired, its after 10. How about I see you tomorrow morning?"

"Good idea. You can sleep here on the boat and I'll see you when we wake up."

"You're so bad..." I chuckled tiredly.

"I'll hold you, and the boat can rock you to sleep. I know you like that."

"I do..."

I stopped by the escalator. I was so tired that I swayed under the weight of my briefbag.

Kurt gave me directions from the airport to the marina, the rich timbre of his voice flowing through me. Potent, it was like a caress down my spine. I felt his large hands scoop my ass and pull me close to him.

"See you in what--half an hour?"

I was too tired to argue, and his boathouse was much closer than my place.

"Sooner than that. I left my luggage in San Francisco."

"You're going back?" Kurt sounded cautious. He accepted my relationships with the other men in my life, but he was concerned about the one in San Francisco.

"Yes. My sister..." My throat tightened and tears welled up.

"Ah. Poor Kay. Come here and let me pamper you."

"Deal."

Blue toes

"I'm going to California tomorrow," I told him.

I leaned back into his couch and put my bare feet up on the table. I smoothed my skirt across my thighs, enjoying the feel of the fabric.

"What's this?" he asked, leaning over to look at my feet. "Blue toes?"

I grinned and lifted my leg, sliding my shin along his cheek until my toes were just inches from his face.

"I had a pedicure today. Do you like?"

He studied my toenails. I'd chosen a metallic blue nailpolish that went really well with several of the skirts I wear this time of year. The nail art on my big toes was done in delicate silver, black and white dots and curliques.

"Very nice," he said, taking my feet into his warm hands.

"Mmmm," I purred. I hadn't realized they were chilled until he'd touched them.

I wriggled around on the couch until my shoulders were braced by the arm and my feet were in his lap. He proceeded to give my feet and legs an acupressure and massage treatment that had me limp as a kitten within 10 minutes. Which is no mean feat given my stress level of late.

"I'll miss you," he said, as he lifted my foot and kissed it. His hand slid along the underside of my thigh until his fingertips brushed my bare mound.

I'd forgotten myself in the sheer pleasure of the moment, and neglected to keep my thighs together. How long had he been looking up my skirt? I wondered, and then decided it didn't matter. I was certain that the voyeur in him deemed it a fair trade for a delicious foot rub.

Nectarine oralgasm

When he called, he thought I was having sex.

"I am I interrupting something?" he asked.

"No, no. I've just found the most orgasmic nectarine."

"Pardon me?"

"I'm at the fruit stand and I found this perfectly ripe orgasmic-smelling nectarine."

"An orgasmic nectarine, hunh?" He sounded dubious.

"You've never bitten into a nectarine and had an oralgasm?"

"A what?"

"Nevermind. I'll save this one for when I see you tomorrow."


Sunday afternoon I produced The Nectarine. I cradled the smooth-skinned fruit in my hand. It was room temperature and the flesh had just enough give to it. I held it to my nose and inhaled, letting out a low moan. "Mmmmmm," I sighed.

He quirked an eyebrow.

"I'll share, but I'm going to teach you how to eat it my way."

"Your way?"

"Yes. I promise this nectarine will be oralgasmic if you eat it my way."

He nodded and I held the nectarine up to his nose. "Smell it."

He inhaled deeply.

"Does it smell good?"

"Yes, very good."

"Now, rub your lips against it."

"What?"

"Just close your eyes, and rub your lips against it."

He did as he was told.

"Smooth, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Smooth like a baby's bottom? Smooth like my pussy?"

"Yes," he grunted that a bit.

"Touch it with your tongue. Slide your tongue over it, like you would if you were tasting me."

"Oooo-kay...." he said, but he did it.

"Now take a bite of it. Sink your teeth into it and suck the juices as you bite it."

He took a bite. It was a smallish bite.

"How does it taste?"

"Mmmm... very good."

"Now, run your tongue along the bite you made.... Feel that? Smooth and juicy?"

He nodded.

"Suck it."

He did. He made an appreciative noise.

"Not bad," I said, and smiled at him. "My turn."

I rubbed the nectarine against my lips. I smelled it. I opened my mouth and sank my teeth in and moaned as the juices filled my mouth. I sucked as I bit away the flesh and had a noisy oralgasm, moaning and sighing over how good it was. The best nectarine so far this season.

"Again," I told him, and held the fruit to his mouth.

I watched as his white teeth bit into the rosy skin, watched his lips purse as he sucked up some of the juices.

"Mmmmm..." I made the pleasure noises for him, my mouth watering, knowing what he was experiencing.

I watched as he flattened his tongue against the wound he had made, sliding it over the golden flesh. I pulled the nectarine away and kissed him, sucking at his tongue, licking at his lips, enjoying the combined flavor of man and fruit.

My turn again. I closed my eyes and slowly sank my teeth into it, savouring the feel of it on my tongue, loving the way my teeth sank into the flesh. I sucked at the juices that welled up around the holes my teeth were making. I bit away the piece and pressed my tongue to the wound, sliding it over the slippery smoothness, savoring the taste and texture. I moaned and sucked and sighed and chewed, and when I had finished my bite of the fruit he spoke.

"God, you're amazing," he said, his voice all throaty.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll never eat a nectarine the same way again."

"Good!" I said, and put the nectarine aside. I had something else for him to taste.


He must have been very appreciative of the lesson, because he sent me roses today. The photo above is one of them.

You don't get what you don't ask for

In an email, a friend said: "I already knew you'd ask for what you wanted when you wanted and expect to have it granted too."

My response to him was: "Do I seem the demanding type? Hmm. I'm not, really. It is just rare that I really want something that I cannot provide myself, and if I do find myself in such a situation, if after thinking about it, I really do want it, I will ask. And you are right, if I do ask, I do expect it granted, mainly because I rarely ask. And since I so rarely ask for anything, the people in my life usually go out of their way to give me what I ask for. Being aware of this, I am careful not to abuse them or make excessive demands, nor to have unrealistic expectations. I feel good when I can do what someone asks of me, and I like to think it is a pleasurable experience for those whom I ask, as well. Without reciprocity, without exchange, why bother?"

I typed it quickly and sent it off, and then re-read it. Something about the circular nature of the statement niggled at me. Something about this is familiar, an echo of something else I've recently read. He had written something circular a few weeks earlier, something that reminded me of...

Ah, yes. I reached my right hand out to the bookshelf near my desk and drew forth the slim volume of poems by RD Laing, "knots". And there, on page 32, I found part of it:

I never got what I wanted. I always got what I did not want. What I want I shall not get.
Therefore, to get it I must not want it, since I get only what I don't want.
What I want, I can't get, what I get, I don't want.
I can't get it because I want it, I get it because I don't want it.
I want what I can't get because what I can't get is what I want.
I don't want what I can get because what I can get is what I don't want.
I never get what I want, I never want what I get.

And then on page 50:

She does not get what she wants from him, so she feels that he is mean.
She cannot give him what he wants from her, so she feels that he is greedy.
He does not get what he wants from her, so he feels that she is mean, and, he cannot give her what she wants from him, so he feels that she is greedy.

Dr Laing did have a gift for describing complex interrelations.

As for me and my wants and asking for what I want... Hmm. Yes, if it is something I really want, I'll ask. I'll ask, and I'll expect, well, I'll expect a response, at the very least. But I'll hope, really hard, that I get it. Because if I didn't think that person couldn't give it, I wouldn't have asked him or her.

But that is a pretty safe approach to geting what I want, I realize, so I've been practicing something else recently, too. I've been practicing asking for something even when I am pretty sure I won't get it, when I am sure the answer will be NO. Like when I asked my Dutchman if he would give me any hints on what is inside the package he shipped me. He said "no" and I expected he would and I was not bothered by the "no." I risked very little in asking. And I'm sure he enjoyed my asking, and enjoyed saying "no", knowing that he was prolonging my anticipation. And besdies, if I hadn't asked, he might have thought I wasn't interested or curious, and that is so not true.

Lately, I've noticed that I've been surprised by how often I've heard "yes" when I've asked for something that I expected to hear a "no" on. And it reinforces for me that old adage: "You don't get what you don't ask for"--and more than that, it makes me wonder how many things I would have heard "yes" to but did not because I was afraid to ask. Because I was afraid of "no." Why am I afraid of such a little word? What power in the world is an imaginary no? I am no longer a child afraid to reach for something because I don't want the humiliation of getting my hand slapped with a loud "NO" for emphasis. No, I am an adult, and my reach often surpasses my expectation of what I can grasp. Surprise!

Everybody's got a story

So.. I was contacted by a gentleman via my stories on Literotica and we've entered this dialogue . He told me a bit about himself and asked me if I had any advice as to how he could be more sensual. I responded as follows:

If you want to be more sensual in a sexual way, more comfortable with your sexuality, then I would recommend that you make love to yourself. Masturbation, with self-love. I masturbate daily. I treat myself to long baths twice a week... I shave, oil my legs and mound, and retire to my bed for an evening of fantasy and voluptuous masturbation.

And because he'd not had much success in his intimate relationships the past few years. I asked him some questions:

You say that the women you have been with in the past you were able to be open and sensual with, but now, you aren't sure you can. What has changed? What happened in your past that you are getting hung up on?

He responded with his story. A good story, a painful story, an honest, self-revealing story that moved me and inspired me. A story of a man who suffered a profound loss and still went on to create an extraordinary life for himself. I responded with:

As for what you wrote.... There isn't anything wrong with you. Really.

I think that what went awry for you in your relationships is what happens to most of us, including me. And it has to do with Fear.

The thing about Fear is that we will always feel fear. Our fears will never go away. We may resolve some of our fears, but we will always encounter situations in our lives that cause us to feel afraid. And most of us respond to life out of fearful places. We let our fears get in the way of living life. We allow our fears and our pasts to dictate how we respond to the current situation instead of being present to what is really going on. But I've learned that it doesn't have to be or stay that way. Before I tell you what I've learned, let me share a bit of my story with you, so we can establish that I do understand where you are coming from and why you feel as you do.

My mother left me with my grandparents when I was 10. My grandfather died that same year. My father got custody and moved us to a new town, and he moved my sisters and I nearly every year from then on. I lost my mother, my friends, the life I knew, over and over again. I was so tired of the pain of loss, and so afraid of losing people, that I stopped bothering to form attachments at all. When I entered romantic relationships, I insisted that my lovers understand that the relationship would end, sooner or later, and that I could not, would not, be possessed. I was an emotional coward hiding under the guise of being a 'free spirit', and I knew it, and I knew myself for a fraud.

In my early 30's things started changing. I faced the fact that the way I approached life and the methods I used to cope with the stresses, disappointments, problems, and fears in my life were not working, and I went looking for something that did work. I read self-help books, did two years of therapy, wrote in my journal, conversed with people, attended worshops, and contemplated my life.

And one of the things that became apparent was that I needed to be courageous. I needed to have the courage to face that I would always have fears and problems--that there was no magic wand that would smooth out the road of life ahead of me--and that I needed to find the courage to not let those things stop me from living my life right now.

One of the Christophers in my life told me that I also needed to stop trying to plan and predict life. Intellectually, I understood what he said. I understood the argument that if one can plan and predict life, then one is not living life... one is re-living the past by over-laying it on the future. But recently, I GOT it. I got what he meant on a visceral level. I got the whole thing Jung said about neurotic suffering. I got the whole thing about fear of the uncertainty of life causing me to pull as much of the familiar past forward into my future as I could. I realized that in my fear I was forcing myself to re-live the past, even though I really didn't want to. I really, really, don't want to relive the past. It is dead, and there is nothing for me there.

Today, the future is wide open. It is a vast nothingness, a place of potentials, and I have the power to chose to either fill it with the expectations and fears and disappointments of the past, or create the life I want to live out of it. And I want to live an extraordinary, vibrant, fulfilled life. And since I want to live an extraordinary, vibrant, fulfilled life, I am choosing to BE an extraordinary, vibrant, fulfilled person. But in order to be those things, I had to accept that fear would always be a part of my life, and find in myself the courage to not let it stop me from living the life I want to live and being the person I want to be.

So there it is. That's my story, and my advice. Find the courage to let your fears remain where they belong, in the past. Sure, you may open up to someone and you may get hurt. That's Life. That's the risk we take. But being hurt isn't so bad, and adults are by nature far more compassionate than we give them credit for. So open up to lots of people. Play the odds. Keep trying. Keep living. Keep being the person you want to be, and you will find that others will be drawn to you, to that person you are being, and you will have the love and companionship you have chosen for yourself. Really.

It will be interesting to see what happens next.

Women as objects of love and desire

Photo: 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.

Despair contagion

[audio-post]
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.

Luck, or Reaping what is sown?

I have been assured that I am far too generous. That I am too kind, too naive, too gullible. That one day I will get myself hurt (I have been, but that won't stop me).

This may be the case. Certainly it appears to be accurate from certain points of view.

And yet, this is how I am. I have a generous spirit. I give when I can, where I can, when I perceive need. In one month I paid a scholarship to a workshop for someone who could not afford it, I paid for coffee for a woman who left her wallet at home, I asked a single-mom with a newborn what she needed most and got it for her, gave a friend with back-trouble a massage, paid for my niece's daycare so my sister could finish her nursing program, and gave freely of my time to an acquaintance who was having marital problems and needed an ear.

"That was very generous of you," commented a good friend of mine.

"Its only time and money. Its what I do with them that are important," I answered.

Besides. I do have a motive. Or maybe three. Giving, of myself or my resources, makes me aware of the abundance in my life. I am aware of my good fortune and try not to take it for granted. It makes me feel good, knowing I have been able to do something for another person. And lastly, and perhaps more importantly, I do so selfishly. I have this superstition that what I send out into the world comes back to me, perpetually. Ill thoughts, ill words, ill deeds, I feel, revisit themselves upon those who perpetuate them. I sow kindness and good intentions and in return, I know, I just know, that when I have a need I cannot meet myself, that somehow, someway, I will get what I need. Some call it luck, some call it karma. I say--good or bad--what comes your way often depends on what you send out into the world.

I cashed in on a few good-deeds this past weekend. I drove up The Mountain and when I left, I left my car and took the car that The Englishman had... it was being cranky. It was late, and it was some time before I realized that the car I'd traded mine for had a gas gauge on empty, and the nearest place for gas was 14 miles away on a winding, graded road. I had a twinge of anxiety but told myself I would make it. And I did. Only, when I arrived, the station was closed, and had been for 30 minutes. I noticed a clerk was still inside. I knocked on the door and he came to it, saying, We're closed. And I said, I noticed, and could he please tell me where the next station was, as I was on empty. And he told me 7 miles. And I asked him if he thought it would be open. He looked at his watch, looked at me, at my car. He said, No, not that late, and he must have seen the flash of panic on my face, because he offered to turn on the pumps and fill my tank. I thanked him profusely. When he finished filling the tank, I tried to give him some cash for him, for his time, for staying late, but he would not take it.

He was a good man, who did a kind and generous thing for a stranger late at night. I could have been a thief, but he took a chance, and helped me. I hope, one day, when he is in need, someone will help him, too. I know the next time I come across someone who needs my help, I will do so, and remember him.

Free-spirit

"It is easy for you to say, you were raised to be a free-spirit," said a friend I've made this past year. He had asked my thoughts on the imminent 'big step' he and his girlfriend of 18 months were about to embark upon: moving in together. The last girlfriend he lived with drove him nuts in short order and he was reluctant to put himself into the same position again. I told him I could understand that all too well, but at the same time, that I considered the practice of using past experience to predict relationship outcomes to be a form of self-fulfilling prophecy. I told him to take the reasonable precautions and then relax and be open to the possibilities in this relationship, which has nothing to do with the old one, unless he makes it so. His comment about it being easy for me to say made me smile. The road to this place has been far from easy, as my closest friends will attest.


For all that I grew up around a bunch of carefree hedonists, there was little stability, consistency, or parenting. In one form or another I raised myself, four sisters, and three parents. My parents were young, self-absorbed, and oblivious to the danger they put their daughters in. I learned first-hand what could happen, and spent my teen years vigilantly trying to protect my siblings from predators. I developed stress-responses and habits, expectations and fears, that stood me in good stead for survival, but handicapped me when I attempted to join the mainstream, to attempt to seem 'normal', to develop and sustain romantic relationships. When I was 18 I returned from a few months in Europe and developed an inexplicable aversion to strangers and unfamiliar places that grew until I was afraid to leave my home. The world of possibilities was terribly large, and my experience of it quite dark in ways. I wanted to try to make sure that whatever I did, whoever I met, created only positive outcomes. I was young and foolish, and terribly controlling. Eventually, I overcame the fear of people, but the fear of the unknown, unknowable, and uncertain became the core of my existence. I did not feel afraid--I was afraid. I did my best to cope, and I grew in and changed in spurts and often lost as much ground as I gained. But I kept working at it, trying to learn what I needed to do to reach for the next rung on the ladder. Striving to become more fully alive and aware, more fully me. All the while keeping in mind that as difficult and slow a process as it seems, even plants can climb ladders.


Just three years ago I was in a miserable relationship that should have ended years earlier but did not, for reasons I cannot recall. We rarely had sex, argued often, had different wants, needs, desires. But we loved each other, and it seemed we thought that was enough. I suppose we preferred being miserable together to being miserable alone. Admittedly, it was a difficult time for me--four people I loved died in as many years and I think I could not face any more loss. When that relationship ended I went into therapy, determined to learn new coping mechanisms and break old patterns, determined to address the issues and complaints my partners had given voice to over the years. And in the therapy- process I chose meditation instead of medication, and did the hard internal work, and read and explored and conversed and contemplated and slowly came to the realization that nearly everything I need I already have within me, and that fear of loss, of death and uncertainty and the 'other', is natural. But rather than deny those fears, rather than sublimate or ridicule them, I realized that it was best to recognize fear for what it was, and allow myself to feel it--let it fill me and flow out of me and let another emotion fill me--love, hope, joy. One day I realized that while I will never be rid of fear, I do not have to be ruled by it.


And I have to remind myself of this daily. I no longer tell myself not to be afraid, or to stop being silly. I remind myself that it is ok to feel afraid. I tell myself that it is ok to feel afraid, but it is not ok to use fear as an excuse not to live every day as fully as I can, to use it as an excuse to avoid embracing the fullness of life. It is not easy. I am flattered that, for all I feel that I am struggling and flailing around, I am somehow managing to meet the challenges of life with enough grace that others think it comes easily to me. But at the same time, I admit that it is coming easier to me--more and more I find myself practicing acceptance and facing each moment with equanimity and spontaneity. They are coming more easily. And perhaps one day I really will be a free-spirit. Who knows? For now I'll savor feeling free-spirited every moment that I can.

Companionship and loneliness

"Do you know what its like to be in a relationship and still be lonely, and if so, do you know how can I fix it?" a friend asked me. He is struggling in a 15 year marriage with declining intimacy and sharing. He loves his wife, misses her, misses the relationship they once had. They've grown complacent and in some ways, too like-minded. They've little left to talk about. I tried to think of what to say to him, and then I rembered something I sent to someone I love in a card:

More often than we are willing to admit, we find ourselves alone with others. In order to understand about how we can be with others and still feel alone, it is important to understand that we can only be comfortable with others when we are truely comfortable with our selves. And by this, I do not mean by developing a solid mental-view of ourselves as immutable entities and then going out looking for others whose similarities will not jab into our comfort zones. What I mean is first developing an idea of the integrity of one's identity aswirl in this continually transforming world. Then developing an understanding that we are each integral parts of a dynamic, inter-related whole; and from there, seeking others who will challenge and nudge us out of the habits and patterns and ruts we stumble into.

True companionship, the companionship that we all long for when it is missing in our lives, is more than the presence of someone in your life who shares common values and accepts you for who you are. A companion is someone whom you trust to be compassionate when it is necessary to help you refine your understanding of what it means to live your life, who will guide you without force or manipulation, who relieves the pain of daily life simply by being 'there', and who acts as a midwife to your soul, drawing forth from you that which was always within you, and is simply awaiting the moment to be born.

I asked him if perhaps he needed to work on being a true companion to his wife. I asked him if perhaps he needed to stop looking at her through the eyes of the past and see her for who she is now, in this moment, and love and value that person. And I asked him if perhaps his restlessness and marital dissatisfaction were external symptoms of an internal issue. I invited him to spend some time alone, to look within, to discover the person he is now--to have an internal dialogue about what he can do to meet his own needs, and how he can approach those he loves about getting their help fulfilling those needs he cannot meet himself. I asked him if perhaps he is lonely for himself, and that maybe, in re-learning to enjoy his own company, he might find his feelings of loneliness in his relationship will fade.

I hope I asked the right questions and said the right things.

Sunday's epiphanies

An online acquaintance contacted me for my perspective on something. We talked about what was going on with him and once we'd discussed his dilemma, he asked:

"So life has been hectic for you this past week--you get it all resolved?"
"Does one ever resolve life?" I responded.
"Your question intriques me. Is it possible for a person to resolve life if they isolate themselves from society and all influences?"
"I think that is the wrong approach"
"What is the approach?"

And the answer to his question pulled from somewhere deep inside me. I didn't think about it. It was like something in me was waiting for that question to be asked.

"One resolves the ambivalence of life by ceasing to attempt to impose expectations on the present in order to influence the future."
His next question showed that he was misunderstanding me. "So just exist? For me to take that approach in life--would be death--not to have expectations which I equate with having goals - direction or path in life. So with that I guess I really don't want resolve my life. Or am I missing your point?"

The past few months of living sort of gelled and this moment of clarity illuminated me. I felt like I was glowing, like I was a beacon of metta. I had this sensation of overflowing with love and gratitude and compassion.
I said, "We put the past into the future. We carry it around and our expectations create a future based on our pasts. And by 'expectations' I dont mean goals and what not.

I'll use an example to illustrate what I mean... Lets say you call you mother, and it seems that every time you call your mother, she says 'so when are you getting married' and it annoys you. So you avoid calling her, because you KNOW that she will just ask you when you are getting married. And when you do call her or talk to her, you already have expectations of what she is going to say, and you already know how you are going to react. So you aren't really being fully present to the moment...you're clinging to expectations of what will occur in the future--carrying unresolved issues from the past forward. And thus the phone call goes more or less as you expected."
He is a quick one. "This I understand. My body and mind are ready for the question--I am ready to pounce back--I should make the call for the right reason and and approach with an open mind and allow the moment to create itself. In speech communication we talk about not allowing outside influences - verbal, auditory, past experiences etc to interfere with the moment--to shut it all out--exist in the moment--so If I understand your approach in life--you have learned to do that in your life more than most --and thus why you are so clued into all that is going on around you."

I wasn't sure if he was trying to flatter me, or if he was being genuine, but I responded to his words at face-value. "I still do it. Its not a matter of tuning it all out. It is a matter of accepting it all, and then none of it clamours for attention."
"Ok understood," he said.

And then we embarked on a conversation about various topics that eventually lead to me saying that lately I've been finding it a challenge to communicate with others lately, and how it bothers me.

Eventually he said, "Is that what bothers you--that people fail to understand why you respond the way you do--that they can't understand your belief system?"
I tried to think to the best way to explain. "I dont care about being understood, in general. I dont feel misunderstood, I dont feel a need to be understood. But when someone asks me a question, and I give them my best answer, they sometimes look at me like I have three heads. Like the question and answer session about 'can you ever resolve life', but worse. I've responded to others to relinquish expectations of the future, and most people dont get it. Really dont get it, that we drag the past, kicking and screaming, into our futures."
He answered, "I understand what you are saying: let go of your past so you can move on in you life. It is difficult for most people to let go of the past--right?"

I knew he was missing something, a nuance, something I'd been working out the past couple of years. "Its funny--when we think about letting go of the past...we think about discarding it. Wadding it up and throwing it away. But really, uts about not clinging to it. Letting the death grip of fear go, and accepting the past--all of it. And then it is where it belongs.. in the continuity of the moment."

"Yes, but there is a difference between not forgetting, and allowing the past to influence. There is a distinct difference..."

He was close, but he wasn't getting my meaning. So I decided to use an example again. "Did you read about that dream I had, the one about being hit over the head while I was travlling, and panicking about my suitcase being empty, and how it seemed so important to be able to prove who I was?"
"I did."
"My analysis of the dream is that I have anxiety...Over the past two years I've emptied the emotional baggage, but I'm still towing the empty suitcase along... because w/o the baggage, I am afraid I won't know who I am. My ID, Everthing that made me 'me', everything that I identified myself with--was in my baggage. And so I am anxious to figure out--to prove--who I am."

He said, "Well - you are the sum,of your past. But today and tomorrow can add / change who you are. Letting go of the past does not mean giving up your ID."

"I am a vessel. Emptied and filled continually... what happens changes me, but does not become me. I am the container, not what is in it. Does that make sense? And one day, perhaps, I will release the container too :) Perhaps that day I will be enlightened?"
"So you don't believe what happens to you today--that in 2 yrs when you look back--is not a part of your new id?"
"What happens changes me, but does not become me. I can feel fear, anxiety, joy, pain. Do they become a part of me? Or do they effect me? And don't I have the ability to decide how much?"
"Why can't they be both?"
"I never used to feel afraid. I used to BE afraid. As a child I was convinced of the inappropriateness of my emotions, so I ceased expressing or feeling them... I pushed them down, deep down... and they became a part of me in ways they were not meant to be."
"If I remember correctly -- enlightment is what buddhism strives for."

"No. The end of suffering. Release from the wheel of suffering."

"Mmm... ok. Now here is something I have observed in life. Very talented writers, producers, muscians - artsy people - all have unusual suffering in light but give us positive views on a number of subjects in life. Life without suffering is less interesting. Jesus had to endure suffering -- so we know he was not a buddhist."

"Ah, but there are some compelling argumnnts for the idea that for the period of Jesus life of which there is no record--that he disappeared into Asia, and came into contact with Buddhists. Jesus, out of love, suffered for the sins of all mankind. His sacrifice was supposed to release his followers from suffering. They were supposed to be assumed into heaven during their lifetimes. They were supposed to become enlightened."

"Well it didn't work did it?"
"Apparently did not."

"I can't wait to talk to my dad about Jesus converting to Buddism," he laughed.
"I think that... Well...it is blasphemy to some, but I think the Rapture is a figurative expression of what it is to become 'enlightened'. I think that the imagery for early Christian texts, the attempts of the writers to give people something concrete to imagine what enlightenment was like... have been taken too literally. The inducement to give up one's clinging to pain and fear and suffering and 'sin' by one person's suffering for all...was apparently not enough.
Jesus said: This is my commandment, that you love one another. And love/lovingkindness/metta is the foundation of what Buddha taught. Loving yourself, loving your neighbor, your family, and your enemies... this is part of metta meditations. 'Love thy enemy as thy self' is so very buddhist."

"There are basic commonalities in most religions."
"It is amazing...How it all fits together... all the religious teachings. You are correct. They all say the same thing: Let go of your pain, your fear, your hatred, your 'sins', and love instead, and send it out into the world, and you will be set free--you will find the way to heaven / nirvana / paradise."

"Yes it is, and yet we can't seem to get along."

"I think the judeo-christian-islamic 'sin' is actually 'holding on to negatively charged past experiences.'"
"Interesting observation."

"The catholics tried to make it easier for people to let go by 'absolving them'--by giving them a ritual by which they could release their sins / regrets / pains... but it all got twisted. Eventually, you had to buy absolution. One way or another, you had to pay. It is all so very clear to me. I've considered posting some of this on my blog, but I'm worried someone would track me down and burn me for being a heretic :) The fundamentalist movements in all faiths create such zealots."

"You are a female -- witch burning in Oregon will pass."
"I'm only 30 minutes from Salem :)"
"Yes and now killing is ok to defend your beliefs."

"The world is crazy. But what is crazier is that every day it becomes clearer and cleared what the insanity is. And it is too simple, and people would not listen."

"So - simply put you would recommend?"
"The insanity is fear of the uncertainty of everyday life. The solution is accepting that uncertainty, and loving every moment you have.

And it is fear of death, dying, going broke, loss... Fear of loss. Fear of the unknown. That is why we project the past into the future... why we drag it along with us. Because it is familiar. We know we can survive what we have experienced before."

"Fear keeps us stuck."
"You have come along tonite for me at a perfect time... to help me put into words what I have come to understand intuitively but felt unable to express coherently."
"So you better understand yourself?
"Its not about understanding myself. There is nothing to understand :) The bags are empty."

"Sure they are "
"Right now, in this moment, they are."
"Got it - :-)"

"5 minutes from now, tomorrow morning, it may be different. God, I sound like..."

"Your grandparents?"
"Such a... such a smug ass."

"Nah--I understand and relate to what you say."

"Good to hear. Maybe others will."

Interview with a Pornographer (me?)

From a recent IM interview (bold type is the interviewer):

-As I mentioned in my email, I am working on a master's thesis on pornographers, particularly purveyors of written pornography / erotica. I have read your stories and your blog. I would like to ask you some questions, if I may?

-You may ask. I may even answer :)

-Fair enough. How long have you been writing erotica?

-I remember writing some fantasies down when I was 16 - 18 years old, then I stopped. I don't remember why. I started again, about 18 months ago.

-Do you consider what you write 'erotica'?

-Yes... much of it. I try to write about the sensual and the sexual in a way that allows people to feel positive about their sexual arousal, rather than 'dirty' or 'bad'. I've gotten feedback on one of my stories, in particular, that it was one of the few erotic stories out there that did not depict the submissive in a negative, simplified, or objectified manner. I was very pleased to hear that.

-Do you consider what you write 'pornography'?

-The word 'pornography' has pejorative connotations. As I recall, this is a compound word that derives from the greek or latin word for 'prostititute' combined with 'graphor' to mean something like... "one who depicts prostitutues and what they do." I am not associated with any prostitutues, I do not depict any prostitutes, nor am I one. That said, I would remind you that in Greece and Rome, and many other ancient cultures, temple prostitutes were highly regarded and thus it is quite likely that we've twisted the word, its original meaning, and the depictions themselves from something sacred, into something profane. Its all subjective, isn't it, wavering as it does in the winds of collective morality?

-Would you consider yourself a pornographer?

-I suppose I could. I suppose on some days I might. I guess I would be in good company: It wasn't so long ago that works by Vatsayana, Hong ji, Ovid, Sappho, James Joyce, DH Lawrence, Henry Miller, Anais Nin, Mark Twain, etc were considered 'pornographic. '

-Based on my criteria, you qualify as a 'pornographer'. How do you feel about that?

-I suppose it is apt. *shrug* It is a word. Your word. I don't really care. What is important is not how I feel about it, but how you or those who use the word with derogatory intentions feel about it.

-Ok, lets get back to your writing. Why do you write?

-Ah. Now that is a question I have not been asked before. Very astute. I write because I feel compelled to, I suppose. I was reading and writing by age 4. I wrote my first story when I was 5. I still have it somewhere, my grandmother saved it for me. I have noticed that writing helps me think, helps me organize my thoughts, sometimes even helps to purge my mind. I have a memory for details and a systematizing mind... sometimes I just have to get the stuff out of my head by writing it down.

-I've noticed that what you write tends to be 'sensual' as you noted on your blog, and yet your style is very peculiar. A single entry can contain spiritual, sexual, and psychological elements that are elegantly expressed on the one hand, and dissonantly coarse on the other.

-Yes, this is something several people have pointed out to me. Someone recently told me that my writing is "refined and raw at the same time". Apparently this style of expression tends to keep people off-balance, particularly in person. I'm not quite sure why I communicate this way... perhaps it has something to do with the fact that most people find my voice very soothing, often hypnotic, andmy using an occasional jarring word keeps them awake?

-So your writing style is similar to your conversation style?

-I think so. I suppose you would have to ask my family and friends if the way I converse and the way I write are similar if you want an objective opinion. My speech and my writing are both expressions of the same thing: my thoughts/feelings. While I occasionally filter what I say, I rarely edit what I write. I can say that I do tend to make people shake their heads during conversations. It is not unusual for me to be told I am outrageous.

-Why do you write what you write?

-Why... hmm... I write what I write because it turns me on, and because I hope in sharing it, it will turn others on, perhaps even give them an opportunity to vicariously explore things they otherwise would not experience. What I write on my blog is generally my thoughts on my daily life. When I have the time and a thought that might be worthy of sharing with others, I sit down and write it. Failing that, I write about something most people forget about.

-What is that?

-The sensual immediacy of every day life. I've been told that I seem to experience my senory input more intensely than most people, and that I express it in a way that makes people more aware of the sensuousness of their own lives.

-Ah yes, I should have expected that: your subtitle. So... you write about sexual and sensual topics because... why?

-Because I am a sexual and sensual being. Because we all are, only I seem to be more aware of it myself... Because too many people are hung up on sex. They have made pariahs of their sexual selves, rather than integrating their sexuality into their daily lives. And by that I don't mean daily sex. I mean... hmmm... people are socialized to think that there is a correct time and place to be sexual, and that 'feeling sexy' at any other time is inappropriate. That is bullshit. That is the kind of socialization that creates sexual psychopathology. Feeling sexy, feeling sensual is natural. We are human animals, we have senses and flesh. We evolved to avoid pain and seek pleasure. What sick fuck decided that controlling another's sexuality not only socially but intrapersonally, was a good idea?

-Interesting... so would you say that you consider writing erotic stories and sensual diary entries a sort of public service?

-Heh. I suppose so. My therapist once told me that I have the healthiest attitude towards sex and my sexuality that she had ever come across. It made me sad to realize how many people are so hung up on sex. It made me think. It made me want to change things. Between that and conversations with some friends whose opinions I respect, I decided to 'go public', so to speak.

- That is a good lead in to my next question...How do you chose what writing you will make public?

-I dont really know. I write for me. Anais Nin said " We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection." Sometimes I want to share what I write with a select few, sometimes with the public, sometimes with no one.

-Do you read erotica yourself?

-Oh yes! The first naughty book I was given was Little Birds by Anais Nin. I was perhaps 10. From there I read Delta of Venus, Lady Chatterly's Lover, The French Lieutenants Woman, Twain's 1601, and Janet Morris' Silistra series. As an adult, found and read the Fanny Hill story, Ovid's Art of Love, Anne Rice's Beauty series, and Anne Bishop's Dark Jewels series.

-Why did you start reading it so young?

Well, it was partly environmental. I grew up in a free-love environment. The act of sex was no mystery to me, but the reasons behind it were. Also, where most people have a fundamental desire to be understood, I have a fundamental desire to understand. I wanted to understand what made people want to do that with each other.

-Do you think that having access to erotic material made you more or less likely to be promiscuous growing up?

-Oh less so. But again, 'promiscuous' is one of those pejorative, emotionally- and morally- loaded words. In general, what is considered promiscuous is defined by the society one is in. I am not prone to indiscriminate sex --which is my definition of promiscuity--and I never have been. And since my curiousity about sex was both tickled and satisfied by the material I read in my youth, I wasn't all that interested in 'playing doctor'. I'd seen the real thing often enough, and I'd read enough to understand that it really was something best left to 'grown-ups'.

-Do you sell your erotica?

No. I've not submitted any of my stories to any organizations that pay to publish. A friend has a couple of my audio stories for sale on his site, but I don't think it has enough of a market share to generate many hits. I've been solicited by a few people wanting to work together, etc, but its been a hectic year for me personally, and I've not had much time or energy to put into it. Its been more of a hobby for me, than anything else.

-Do you think you would find more time to write erotica if it was lucrative?

-Of course! Writing and recording erotic stories is quite a lot of fun. They come very easily to me, once I set aside a block of time to write them down. Its just that there are so many other things I like doing, too, and though they don't make money, either, they are much better for my social life :) Seriously though, it would be great to make a living at producing erotic material. I'm too practical to do the starving-writer thing, but I may yet try some e-commerce / e-book / digital download venture -- if I can determine there is a market out there that would pay enough to make the effort worthwhile.

What would you like to see happening in erotica in the next decade?

I'd like to see more material out there for women and couples. Women can be quite raunchy. We like our romantic, sweet, hint-at-but-don't-describe-the-details fiction, but--just as we like to be bent over the couch and fucked hard and fast once in a while--we also like to read hot, steamy stories that make us want to reach into our sex-toy stash and play. And the stuff out there for the general male audience is just too... dry. Or too short. Or too unrealistic. Its funny, I'v had several men contact me, asking for help with their wives. They say their wives are frigid, or reluctant, or too perfuctory in sexual relations, and they wish there was something they could do to make their wives more like me. c Sometimes I recommend sensual massages or discission of fantasies. Sometimes I tell them to try to find a way to introduce their partners to one of my stories, like Check and Mate. Or one of my audios, like Picnic Beneath the Willow. I've heard back from some that the stories have gone over very well, much to their surprise. I think people would be surprised to know how many women would enjoy erotica more if they could find good erotica, with the right balance of romance and raunchiness. So, mainstreaming quality erotica for women and couples is something I would like to see, sometime soon.

And, with that, I've got to call it a night. I'm tired and I've got a long day tomorrow. I hope you don't mind?

-No. I understand. You've given my far more of your time than I had any reason to expect. Thank you.

-My pleasure. May I use a portion of this interview for on my blog? I think it would be interesting reading.

-It is mostly your material... I just asked the questions, so I don't see why not. Sent me the link if you do post?

-Sure. Goodnight!