Soul Massage

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Drunk memories

I can’t remember the sex.  Though, there must have been some.  We were always fighting about it.  I wanted more, faster, harder; she wanted to treat me beautifully.  She wanted slow, relaxed, at her pace.  She was attracted to and absolutely hated the whore in me.  Entranced by my sexual freedom, my open sensuality and strong will, she made a pointed plot to engage and she hoped, tame the energy within.  Thing was, she was one of three lovers, a fact that shifted the pleasure rift between she and I, but left me more time to dally with others.  Those were my years of polyamory.  

So, since I couldn’t have her while I was being had by them, we drank.  We drank with sensual commitment that at this moment makes me long for a lover with whom to drink – to excess.  We started in the woods, at a womyn’s festival and a fifth of Southern Comfort.  The nice thing about drinking in the woods is the sense of safety.  Drink and walk and get loud, wandering along paths through light and dark.  A world filled with strangers and a few acquaintances, but without the judgment one might find wandering along the streets (unless you were in Mayberry, sans Barney).  We tipped the bottle between us, laughing and singing and sometimes falling to the ground.  It’s still amazing how you can fall down drunk and roll over for the next swig.

I can’t honestly remember how we got back to the tent or even getting to sleep.  What I remember was the next morning at breakfast.  The tables were filled with remnant fear from the night before.  Womyn spoke of torrential rains that flooded their tents, thunder that shook the ground, loosening poles and collapsing canvas atop them as they knelt huddling in the center (in prayer).  I laughed; first because I thought they were kidding.  Then at their reaction to the storm (as though they could pray away the hatefulness I had witnessed in an instant – I know it could be).  Finally, the most joyous bit was that I had missed it all.  I was sleeping – deeply.  When my grrl arrived at breakfast to hear the stories and feel the stares (I had voiced my skepticism), she just looked at me and we shared a knowing smile.

That was the story of our first week together.  Over the next year, we spent more evenings drinking beyond measure, laughing and crawling about, having discussions that slipped free more easily with lubrication and were received less fitfully.  The challenges were less biting, judgments less intense, and rest more complete after a night of libations.  The sex was limited or absent, at least from this, my primary relationship. (Or else, all I can remember are the fights and when it wasn’t going well).

Moving in together pushed forward the issues we could laugh about drunk to those we would fight about sober.  And I stopped drinking.  Always a bad plan when you are in relationship with a drunk.  That amber colored glass keeps one’s vision clear (inside the illusions designed).  Sober, there is too much to see, to feel, and to regret.  

She kept drinking.  She grew angry, disappointed, and hateful.  We had the tools, but like toddlers, instead of using them to remake the relationship, we merely threw them at the problems.  Our anger increased to a joint frenzy so that we openly plotted the demise of the other. We became quite adept at the “this is how I will kill you” discussions.  The world was painful and we were the chief cause.  

She left.  It was horrible.  Years later, I called to talk to her and she told me she was still mad at me.
I moved on.  There were so many lessons to learn, so much of life to recover, and way more sex to be had.  But, I never have found anyone else to drink with, like that.  Maybe I don’t really look.  I think about it.  Imagine fucking, riding atop my lover with tequila bottle in hand; taking that shot from a belly button. I think I know better.  If I want to drink that much, there will be consequences.  Ones I have no interest in reliving.  So, most of my next lovers were in recovery, dry drunks.  Same issues – less fun.

Me, I still drink.  I just do it alone.  Mostly.  Occasionally I call a friend to share a special bottle of wine or new liquor.  But still, sometimes I miss a partner who drinks, for fun (and what fun may be).

All acts of Love and Pleasure…

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Full moon womoon belly

ktbug profile picture

I lifted this .gif from a discussion of VBAC. 
Birthing topics are off my list, but this is a beautiful opening flowering blossoming being in creation. 

Honor the belly in all its aspects...

Secret Society tells the story of a woman who, fed up with the dreams of her husband, begins work in a factory that has a group of women with a secret passion - sumo wrestling.  Even though the rating on this link offers five stars, it is well worth all ten.  Find this movie as an streaming option on Netflix.

Happy belly love - bump em!

Sunday, February 6, 2011

At home in my body - repost from another time

The more I feel, the more I experience my body.
The more I love in my body, the more my body relaxes.
The more my body relaxes, the more peaceful I become.
The more peaceful I become, the more satisfaction I experience.
I feel content, complete, at home in my body and with Mother Earth.
That's the conclusion, but presented at the beginning, that way I know it's covered.
I've been working on clearing my space, my mind and my home.  I'm opening to the next great adventure, getting ready to dance off into the horizon.  I haven't got a clue.  I had a plan, loosely formed though it was, to get it together starting today.  Things change, often.  So, my list is still posted with only one thing completed.  No regrets.  I enjoyed a long full day with my sweetie, Desiree.  Every now and then when the restlessness would overtake her we sat out in the sunlight and watched traffic.  I like gentleness in life, in my life.  In the quiet, during her naps, I sorted and cleaned and thought about how very much I love her, love being here for her, and began to question where the rest of love has gone.  How do we come here, intermingle with one another and yet walk away allowing our connection to whither?
It's different this time, the reaching out.  Without attachment to the outcome, I can call or respond without expectation.  Since it is the thought that counts, best we begin to identify what we are thinking.  What is our intention?  What are we expecting from this particular action?  Have we planned a response?  Are we willing to sit with what is?
The more I feel, the more I experience my body.  Are we ready to feel, to be alive?  Will we allow our feelings to manifest in our being?
The more I love my body, the more my body relaxes.  Love is letting go.  Are we willing to exhale into release?
The more my body relaxes, the more peaceful I become.  We must become the peace we seek.
The more peaceful I feel, the more satisfaction I experience.  When we are open, we are receptive.  Holding on blocks good from our lives.
I feel content, complete, at home in my body and with Mother Earth.  We love ourselves, and this, by choice.  All the finagling to harness another in relationship is worthless until we find Love for ourselves, with ourselves, in ourselves. 
As we love ourselves, love is extended to all those around.
For me, it might sound cliche, but beauty for me really does start on the inside. It's like a state of mind, a state of love if you will. Then, whatever you can do on the outside is all like a bonus.
Queen Latifah
Be in Peace.  Be in Love.

Thursday, February 3, 2011


I have lots of things that I just love – books, wines, especially meads, scotch, dark chocolates, note pads, journals, lotions, butters, bath gels, essential oils, calendars, catalog pages, and quotes.  I love to collect them, to look at them and to know that I have them.  Some things I use regularly, others I just save.  Sometimes I share what I have stored so I can make room for more.
The libations I display on an altar for both viewing and easy inventory.  It also makes it easy to receive the perfect gift.  No worries of running out, for as the supply gets low, it can be replaced.  My books I keep tucked in spaces where I read – in the car, in my purse, the bathroom and under my pillow in bed.  Anytime I a free moment, I read.  It is the same with journals and scraps of paper; everyday there are lists and notes – ideas, hopes and dreams. 
I am particular about the scents I wear.  I make every effort to design my own and apply them to my shower and moisturizing products.  I also like to make bath salts to share with friends and co-workers.  This is one of the ways I experience my creativity.
Sometimes I keep things as a place marker for what I desire.  I use list and pictures to vision my hopes and dreams.  I am willing to relax and allow life to carry me (in general).  I am also VERY comfortable holding on the things that have sometimes passed their usefulness (or my interest).
So, having said that last piece, I include people in the bookmark category. I started this note to get to this point.  I like some relationships because as long as I maintain them, I do not have to worry about filling that need.  It doesn’t really matter if they meet the need, they plug the leak. (I wanted to put “hole” in there but that seems so crass – true, maybe.)  I took a survey about relationships and I come across as secure and dismissing.  Even as I answered the questions I could see how the relationships I share are woefully inadequate for my perceived needs.  I am content to allow them to linger as they do not distract from my life.  In an ideal world, I want only relationships which enhance my life. 
I am enveloped by m belief that the true treasures in life are the relationships we build.  As such, I am not so willing to end a relationship what I am slightly pleased with.  It is more than possible that the issue lies equally with me – either my indecisiveness in re-establishing boundaries even if it means the end of said relationships, or showing up in a way that makes shared time and space more palatable.  My nonchalance must be quite bothersome, especially to those who actively seek engagement with me. 
I read an article on communication that says to treat everyone as a stranger.  That means I will approach each encounter free of expectation.  It effectively means I will be less pissed off that I have to explain the same things every single time I meet people.  The thing is, the reason I like to get to know people is that we get to share information about each other.  It would be nice if we were considerate enough to remember what we learned (or heard).  I understand that we might need to check in every now and again, but really, make an attempt to get it.
I am working this technique at work where teaching and re-teaching is a constant effort.  It seems as if there is no need to learn because I will be there to advise again, in fifteen minutes.  My commitment to shift my thinking is due entirely to job appreciation.  I am thankful to have work in a system where paper pushers are being made redundant.  Most of my job duties and assignment have become electronic and are completed my providers.  The other reason is that my workplace has developed a “play nice program” in which they will be monitoring attitudes, and disciplining toward termination.  So, every day, I unpack my smile and attempt to be helpful as often as possible.  I acknowledge that this is an effort and I fall short at times.  These days, more often than not, I am successful.  It helps to think that I am excited to meet each person every night – anew.
My success is limited in my personal life.  Sometimes I miss the idea that I can be in a relationship with someone and actually share my life.  Other times I just let it go.  I know it looks like I’m not invested, but really it that I feel like it will make no difference what I say or how I feel.  I tire of endless arguments or discussions that seem to go nowhere. It‘s nice to have someone looking out for you, watching your back. But, at what cost?   I am past the sadness, disappointment, and let go of any expectations.  What I have left is a form of peaceful (meaning drama free) co-existence.
My life is full with my personal interest, my beautiful grand-daughter, my home and work.  My friends used to ask where I expected to include a romantic relationship.  My response was two hours here and two hours there.  After months of trying the daily thing, then the more days than not thing, we are back at a few hours here and there.  There are things I miss conceptually, but I so appreciate my peace and quiet, I just keep letting go. Letting go of my ideas, but not my hopes or dreams.  Instead, I preserve my relationships as bookmarks for what may be…