Do You Even Do Sacred Sex, Bro?!


I LOOOOOOOOOOVE MEN. I love their Bromances, their constant brutal pranking of one another, the way most of them enjoy being infantilized, even their simplistic understanding of sex; 'if I make my penis feel good, then I will cum'. I have spent my entire life essentially studying and trying to understand the behavior of Men. 

Much of this drive comes from being hurt by Men throughout my life; I'm trying to understand why they did it. Men are responsible for most of my sexual, physical, psycho/emotional abuse and anguish and as a result I have an inherent fear of men. They are also the only species to ever make me feel safe; no woman, animal, or tree in nature has ever made me feel as secure and safe as the special and very significant Men in my life. They are each fascinating, puzzling, endearing and somewhat terrifying; a fun little dichotomy. Finding and keeping My Men was difficult because almost all Men have poor modeling or support on how to be a "Good" Man or even what that means.

For myself, the easiest way to gain access to Men was to just be myself. I, like Men, correlated affection, love, and nurturing with sex or sexual acts. It's not that Men are just 'always horny' or that they have 'more of a sex drive than Women'. *literal eye roll* It's that their hearts are located closer to their cocks than their brains are (j/k but not really), which is why they tend to make so many questionable decisions around sex. It's Science. They are trying find the fastest route to feel Love and when aroused they can't think about how exactly to get that need for love met in ways other than sex.

In the math of Relationships, that makes sense to me. There is, of course, a high likelihood that 'sex/sex acts equate(s) to love' is because of my being sexually dishonored (abused) by people that were supposed to "love" me. However, I have had so many incredible, BIG hearted Men that have honored me with their vulnerability and also gifted me with their incredible protective energy during our encounters that to give credit only to the pain and trauma of my sexuality is disrespectful to those that helped heal me with their HEART [hard] Ons. 

For me, sex is not just sex, it's a way to convey love to that. specific. person. I curate each sexual interaction by connecting with my partner emotionally immediately upon meeting them (loose attachment love style-which has been dangerous at times as an FYI) evaluating their mood, their level of experience, their emotional intelligence, I learn about their desires, how they respond to touch, how "manly"/masculine they feel, how they relate to women, their mothers, themselves! I also take into consideration how dominant they actually are in comparison to how dominant they feel themselves to be, this gives me my Danger Quotient; which is flexible depending on the male and abled to be influenced by myself during that interaction.

Once all that data is processed and I have qualified them for being my sexual/romantic partner (yes, my pussy has criteria that has to be met) then everything from my hair to the position of my body (on my knees, beside them, standing, etc.) or whether or not I make noise is specifically geared toward making this person feel LOVED not just pleasured or at the very least that they are better able to see more things about themselves to love, by the end of our interaction together. I have watched Men evolve and reach for higher levels of consciousness when their appetite for sex [love] is met.

I have also seen their growth stunted by them having any kind of sexual shame. Sex shame turns off a man's ability to show love with a vulnerable heart; it hardens him and as a result, distances him from the love he is seeking. It's a really heartbreaking cycle that I have watched and had to bow out of for my own self preservation, a few times. Men are frequently painfully unaware of their emotional deficits for a number of reasons, the primary relating to shaming of their emotionality when it is present. Women tend to chastise and become shaming when placed into a maternal role with men in relationship.

If we take a moment to remove the physical gender of the behaviors and instead approach them as Masculine and Feminine energies, that gives us the space and the opportunity to see ourselves in each other which becomes connective instead of divisive. When we focus on trying to hear and empathize during disputes, even if we don't agree, then we maintain and also build upon the connection from the last conflict with that person.

What that allows for is more expansive forms of love beyond just sex which shrinks the deficit and also gives Men the ability to think their way through arousal to more emotionally intimate connection; which can occur within even just one sexual interaction. Instead of having a one stand that leaves you even needing to do a "Walk of Shame" or having to argue your way to orgasm when coupled (you know what I'm talking about) you can walk away knowing that deep care was exchanged; even if you were also let's say [consensually] spanking or choking that person.

We have reached a point however, in our society, where we as Women can no longer acquiesce to lack of introspection, awareness, or the motivation to do either that is pervasive in today's Male. That unfortunately brings us to an impasse, and one, that due to recent events in the United States requires us to start implementing a solution immediately. 

Sex, is the most direct way to inspire and effect change, in Men.

Not just the act of sex though, because that can be replicated by silicon, by various forms of machinery and media, by their own really inventive versions of masturbatory aids. It has to be sex that allows them to be so deeply vulnerable, so open, so nurtured that they feel supported and seen enough to become compelled to change. Sacred Sex.

The idea of sex being anything other than functional can be difficult for some men to grasp at first and when they're confused, tend to shut down and retreat emotionally. When they work with someone who can help them acknowledge their Divine Masculinity in those moments of heightened emotionality and get them to stay in it long enough to guide them onto a healing path instead of a destructive one, then they begin to understand the purpose and desire to improve oneself. They want to grow, be seen, and appreciated as much as Women, most just don't have skill set to extrapolate what is being asked for or what is needed from the feminine perspective.

This is where we need to tune into our Divine Feminine, so we can better learn to ask in a way that gets our needs met by the Men that want to love and protect us. It also gives us the ability to guard our boundaries fiercely, when necessary, and if we select our Men properly be supported by their strength without feeling slighted by it. This is the interplay that is out of balance in our current society.

Men, we NEED you to step up and into your Divine Masculine protective strength. We need Men that stand for Justice. We need your gentle, open hearted, fathering. We need you to learn about the sexual prowess that comes with your vulnerability and you respecting our autonomy. We need you to pause just long enough to listen.

For more on You, as a Sacred Male, stayed tuned into this series or you can jump over to my contact page and we can dive deep together.




The Trumping Up of Men

For the majority of my life, I have taken a masculine and as such, a very logical, pragmatic, reasonable approach to my emotions, by generally denying them completely or putting them in tidy packages (for no one else in the world to see) and then turning my emotional energy into physical energy; exercising, sex, wrestling/fighting (with my Dudes), building or repairing things, yard work, you know "man" shit. While I assumed that this emotional synergy would be the pinnacle of being in relationship with me, it has never, ever, been sustainable in a relationship. They eventually want more of me or I eventually want more of them. And neither of us knew how to give of something that we had no attachment to.

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I love going on Adventures! For me though, an Adventure need not be more than a spontaneous surprise. I get the same exhilarated feeling whether I am laying on the edge of the Grand Canyon or getting lost on the way to Chinatown and being serenaded by a homeless man singing Cupid by Sam Cooke.

I was raised in a very dysfunctional family and that in itself was an adventure. The next moment was never predictable, things were usually chaotic and that really trained me to be always on the edge of my seat waiting for the next thing. The privilege of adulthood is that I am learning how to remove the dysfunction from the chaos so that I can enjoy the Adventure before me.

I look for Adventure everywhere.

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The Electric Buzz of Survival Part 3- Closing the Loop: REPOST

We all suffer trauma throughout our lives. Actually we suffer micro-traumas everyday. We lose jobs, we are rejected romantically, we are hurt by a loved one, we suffer deaths, crimes, and an influx of negative media both real (war, rape, shootings, civil unrest) and dramatized (reality t.v., hyped up news stories, that one co-worker or family member who complains about everything). Granted some traumas are worse than others and can have life altering, lasting effects on the person who was touched by them.

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The Electric Buzz of Survival Part 2- The Itch to Flip the Switch: REPOST

"Cycle of Abuse" by Avanduyn - I created this work using Adobe inDesign CS after wanting a handout to share with people. I used the fonts Eras Bold ITC and Palatino. Licensed under Public domain via Wikimedia Commons -

"Cycle of Abuse" by Avanduyn - I created this work using Adobe inDesign CS after wanting a handout to share with people. I used the fonts Eras Bold ITC and Palatino. Licensed under Public domain via Wikimedia Commons -

In any type of abusive relationship, there is a repetitive cycle that occurs. In 1979, a Psychologist named Lenore E. Walker developed the social cycle theory that is shown in the graphic here.

It has been adapted over the years and others have developed more specific versions for emotional abuse, child abuse, and even just violence in general. Having been a victim of nearly every type of abuse there is at some point of my life, I personally find her original to be a simplistic yet very accurate depiction despite who the perpetrator or the victim is.

This was my existence for most of my life. Most people wouldn't know this unless we were really close and even some of those few had/have no idea. This was also a regular part of my childhood; I actually grew to look forward to Mommy Dearest drinking or doing cocaine because it meant after the explosion, we would all be happy soon. As a child, I was sick regularly, I bit my nails, I twirled my hair until I pulled it out (I still have a bald spot). I would rip paper into tiny pieces and stick it in my pockets for safe keeping. I wet the bed until I was 9, I was a sleepwalker, and I spent a lot of time sitting in the confines of my closet because there, I felt safe.

When I became a teenager, writing and art, caffeine and cigarettes became my outlets. I still have numerous journals that are full of my pain and when the pain became too much I started to cut myself, not for attention, but for control. Over time it became very difficult to maintain the mask that I was taught to keep on my face. Despite a rather amazing ability to always smile during the shit storm, certain people in my life started to notice something behind that grin and they started to gently pry.  Over the years, I gradually improved my ability to hide that anything was ever wrong. When my friend Jupiter moved away, I sealed up any remaining cracks and weak spots so everyone would just see a solid foundation from the outside. If you look happy, people don't ask what's wrong with you.

I met my ex-husband in the Spring of 2009 and by the end of that summer we were dating exclusively and living together. I realized prior to moving in that I had a lot of "stuff" I had to work through but I didn't want to miss out on someone great just because of the torment that  DS put me through. So, in true Roxy form, when I needed to cry I politely excused myself and did so in the confines of the bathroom or spent the bike ride to work bawling my eyes as cars whizzed past me. The amount of time I spent crying increased as did his suspicions about what the fuck was really going on. He tried to comfort me, hold me, and get me to talk about what happened whenever I was upset but, I wanted no part of that. The more he pushed, the more I retreated inside myself until it became too much for me to carry alone.

I eventually quit the old job I had and found a new one because DS continued to show up even though I had an Order of Protection taken out against him. He would stay right within the legal footage of the Order as he stood outside in the parking lot of my workplace making sure I noticed him, at least once a week. I changed my phone number, my address (twice), and he still emailed me and eventually showed up at my new job 3 months after the Order expired.*

   *Prior to an Order expiring, you have the option to renew it for another 2 years. However, when you do so, you have to notify your perpetrator of the places (specific addresses) that they will have to stay away from, in essence, giving them a map to exactly where you are. When I brought this to the attention of the "Safe Place" secretaries, I was told, "If he shows up at your new place, just call the cops." My response, "You recognize this paper is not a shield, right? It's not going to stop him from being violent. It just gives the detectives a primary suspect once my body is found." She did not respond after that, she just stared at me silently. I did not renew because I thought that I would be more able to maintain my anonymity.*

From the moment I moved in with my ex-husband I felt out of place. His home was too quiet and too empty and too organized and his life was too predictable and I started to need .    .    .  something. I had no idea what was missing in my life. I had a nice home, a nice guy, a dog (his), a job, nice friends. What was missing? I would stay up for days (literally) sometimes because there was all this energy within me that I had nowhere to put. I tried art, writing, dancing, hooping; every single craft I could get my hands on.

It wasn't until meeting our therapist two years later (2011) that I had any idea what I needed. I needed an explosion and that's something I wasn’t getting. Due to the lack of explosive stimuli, the resulting "come down" is a state I wasn't ever reaching. I started to get horrible migraines and back spasms. I couldn't and wouldn't sleep for days. When I did sleep, I would twitch, talk, and cry involuntarily. I would overeat and then under eat. I got to the point where leaving my house was a struggle and it just became easier to deal with the itch, the twitch, the buzz of electricity at home.

It became a really dismal existence. Here I was, after 27 years of my life, finally in a safe space needing an "incident" to relax. I had no way to explain, even to myself, that I missed the abusive cycle. That my body needed to get rid of some of that electricity before my breaker tripped. The coping skills I learned as child were no longer serving me here in this calm environment. I'd done them all over and over but, nothing squelched the electric vibrations within me. I read books on PTSD, Dissociative Disorders, depression, anxiety. I followed some courageous bloggers who spoke about their own trials and dilemmas. I even considered medication when I started to "stir the pot" seeking release.

Over time, therapy helped deal with the trauma, my (ex)-husband helped deal with the drama, and I sought some cure for my broken spirit via the Net. While my psyche was being dealt with, I had 30 years of hurt that no one could repair but me. Eventually, I came across a Meet Up group that I thought might lead me to a softer place for myself; I watched their events for about a year. Simultaneously, I befriended a woman who I felt connected to through some mutual  experiences in pain. It so happened that this woman, Monique, was also a member of my Meet Up group. This May (2014) she and a gentleman named Lawrence facilitated a class on energy that both my husband and I attended together. while there, for the first time in 32 years, I learned how to redirect the seemingly endless current within that had been on a loop for so long.

Holy Shite! I had so much more to say than I realized. To those that are still with me, THANK YOU and please return for tomorrow's post; I will be sharing what I learned this past May from these two wonderful people who helped me solo much. Until then, as always, Be Riveted!

The Get Up & Gos: REPOST

I have Restless Legs Syndrome. Wait!

Let me restart.

I don't officially, by a medical professional's diagnosis have "RLS." I do, by the commercial's vague and generalized symptoms have it. I'm sure if I were to take these symptoms, that both I and the commercial have in common to a doctor, they would agree that I do indeed have it and should very quickly be placed medication X which will make my vision blurry, my hair fall out and give me horrible diarrhea but, my legs will be still for the night.

I don't actually call it RLS though; I just call it the Get Up and Gos.

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The Est and the Nth: REPOST

I am insatiable. Most that know me (especially My Men) would agree that it's a pretty fitting descriptive in many different areas of my life. I typically have more than one job at a time or multiple books being read simultaneously. My hobbies range from crocheting and knitting to wood working and working on cars (though my knowledge is limited) which are always in state of perpetual flux. I'm Bisexual which I have been told is "greedy' but, can't a girl just want it all?

My desire to become a Vampire is solely based on the fact that if I lived forever I could actually do EVERYTHING that I want. I could read every book I've ever wanted to read and visit all the places that haunt my dreams with yearning. I could do it all.

Unfortunately, Lestat and Louis (Erik and Queen Sophie are also acceptable) have not arrived at my door for us to have a sexy Vamp three-way so for now I just have to live everyday for the -est and the nth.

Est is my personal standard to meet for the day. If -est is met than I can go to sleep happy. Did I try my hard-est? Was I my kind-est? Was I the bold-est that I could be? Were my efforts focused on being the funny-est, the smart-est, the most Hon-est version of myself that I could possibly be in this lifetime?

If I answer these all with a, "Yes," then lucky me; I get to go right to sleep with not a second thought. Unfortunately, I am an insomniac so I spend my nights forgiving myself for not meeting one -est or another and breathe into the space where I gave it my B-est and try to find peace there.

I am never fully satisfied with my -est fulfillment; just another cause for my insatiable nature.


I have a quote, on one of my kitchen cabinet doors that asks, "How much did you love today?" I answered with, "Completely." That is what I strive for; to love completely but, more than that, I want to do everything completely to the nth degree . . . fully, deeply, passionately.

The problem with that though is, that I'm rarely "All In" . . . with anything. So, even when I come close to the nth, the very thing I crave most, it's still beyond my reach. That leaves me with a thirst, a hunger, an aching for more; insatiable.

I enjoy that feeling, that wanting more; it makes me feel alive. I feel superior in a world full of drones living in contentment. To be content, to me, is a sentence worse than death. It's a settling for less than, it's refusing to round the bases, it's pulling a France. I want to always be ravenous in my life so I remember to continue living to my nth.

"A hungry dog hunts best. A hungrier dog hunts even better." Norman Ralph Augustine

I guess I think, that if all parts of me are always yearning for more knowledge, for more experience, for more sex, for more fun, for more people .   .   . just for MORE then I will live a life unparalleled. I will have an exceptional life full of adventures and fuck ups, with incredible pleasure and devastation. A life full of living for the -Est and the Nth because being insatiable makes me happy.


I'm Sorry, I'm Sorry, I'm Sorry: REPOST

I have been sick for two days; throwing up until I can barely move sick.  I have repeatedly apologized to my husband for being ill and for him having to care for me and because we had to go to the hospital and because I make horrible sounds when I am puking and because I needed his help showering and so on and so on.  In the interim of this avalanche of apology, he has said one thing, "It's not your fault that you're sick.  You don't have to apologize." It's a foreign concept to me, to not continuously apologize for every single thing I'm doing; for illness, for tears, for saying, "No."  I was raised in a household where if you were sick, it was an inconvenience and you'd better be dying, otherwise you're going to school damn it!

I remember one time when I was in fifth grade; we had our state tests and I was terribly nervous.  Another standard in our household was that you pass, period.  I was always a very stressed test taker, there was an immense amount of pressure and it always made me queasy.  So, there I am, finished with my testing and I really feel like I'm going to be sick.  I ask to use the restroom and just before I enter, I throw up all down the front of myself; my clothes are covered.  I was fortunate enough that my mom lived close to the school and she was unemployed at the time so I knew she'd be available.  I walked to the nurses office, still soaked in puke and called her to come to my rescue.

"Mom, I threw up and I really need to come home." "Are you finished with all your tests?" "I think so but, I'm covered in throw up. Can you come get me?" "Why did you throw up on yourself? Why didn't you go to the bathroom?" "I did, I just didn't make it in time." "Well, that's ridiculous Roxanne. Let me talk to the secretary or nurse." I passed the phone on while I went to the bathroom and when I returned the nurse was there to hand it back, "She wants to speak with you again sweetie." I took the phone, "Listen to me right now. Get back in that class and finish your tests! You're fucking lying and you still have more tests." "I told you I thought they were over. I'm covered in vomit, I smell, and I need some clean clothes." "Too fucking bad Roxanne." "Can Grandma come get me?" (She also lived very close and was at home). "Absolutely not. Go back to class." Then she hung up.

I put down the phone, thanked the nurse, then left her office.  I held the sobs in my throat so tight it felt like it was going to turn inside out (another standard, no crying).  I walked to the cafeteria, got my lunch, then sat all alone as my classmates looked and laughed.

This didn't bother me at all.  You must understand, for me, it was less shameful to be thought of as disgusting or gross than it was for anyone to know that I had the type of mother who wasn't there for me; that hurt more.  Not many people knew how Mommy Dearest (one of the names I eventually called her) behaved but, my guidance counselor did.  She came, sat across from me, and eventually persuaded me to come back other office.  She gave me clean clothes from the lost and found and the moment she handed them to me, I fell apart.  I apologized profusely as I sobbed uncontrollably.  My heart was breaking because here a stranger (ish) was showing me more love than my mother did.

"I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I'm really very sorry.  I can go back to the cafeteria now because I stink.  I'm sorry I made it your office smell.  I'm sorry you had to come get me.  I'll be fine now," I said as I grabbed my greasy school lunch. "Stay here, let me get you something better to eat, that food is going to make you even sicker," and she did.

My mom never came to get me, she never allowed my Grandma to come get me.  This wasn't the first or last time that my mom wasn't there for me.  This was just the first time I realized that she never would be.

Today as an adult, whenever I am performing less than what I was taught perfect is, I say, "I'm sorry." The little girl in me is so afraid to lose love, so afraid to disappoint that she has been apologizing for 30 years, for everything.

I even taught my daughters to be overly apologetic and that was a harsh realization.  I watch as my Toddler walks in the mall or gym and says, "Sorry," to people who bump into her.  Why is it her responsibility to apologize when they are knocking her down?!

No more.

We as a society apologize too much. People say, "Well it's polite," or, "It's good manners."

No, it's not. It's submissive. If you haven't done anything intentionally harmful then you're over apologizing. You are NEVER going to say the right thing for everyone. You're NEVER going to make everyone happy. AND sometimes illness just happens.

We should really focus on clarification rather than apologizing; a majority of the time it's all a miscommunication or misunderstanding anyway. I truly believe that most of are not malicious, we just can't find the right words in the right moment sometimes.

The people who genuinely love and care for us don't want an apology. Their care is an act of LOVE. Love they feel you would give in turn and so apologies and often gratitude are unnecessary.

Today, I want you stop apologizing for bullshit. We all get to do that. No more blanket apologies for fucking nonsense. No more saying sorry just because. You are loved without your apologies and so am I.

Oh NO! My Fortress of Emotional Solitude. Whyyyyyyyyyyy!: REPOST

So, I've been home for a couple of days now.  I have mostly spent my time gushing (figuratively and literally ☺️) over what an amazing soul reintegrating experience my time in San Diego was.  The rest of the time has been spent dealing with "Jetlag" which is apparently my body struggling to adjust to time travel.  Oh Marty McFly, you make it look so easy; perhaps I should've worn a vest while I was flying to insulate my organs from the space-time continuum rip. I'm tired, really tired; physically I feel as though I have the flu, mentally I feel fried like I've been cramming for a final exam, emotionally .   .   . I am melting.  Every time I wax poetic about my week-ish in Tantra-ville, the real artistic beauty that is Tantra just flows from my mouth. Info that I didn't even realize I took in or that it resonated with me until it fell from my tongue with grace and beauty. Philosophy that sounds both beautiful and destructive; too good to be true.

The simplicity, that is Tantra's ultimate goal, has yet to be achieved.  It first is busy at work playing Jenga with this really amazing Fortress of Emotional Solitude that I built for myself.  It started small, my Fortress but, over the years I have added some spectacular security enhancements to keep people out. I truly feel that the interior of my fortress isn't even its most impressive part.  I have spent years placing scenic items along the way to distract and confound those around to keep them at a safe distance.  I occasionally lower the drawbridge over the moat filled with alligators and electric eels to let good intending people in but I've put so very many defensive strategies in place that sometimes the people who love me most get hurt.

Tantra on the other hand, treats my unburdening like a game. I don't even know how it survived the moat, scaled over the 3 layers of masonry walls, made it through my thorny vine maze to be standing at my side with a huge SMUG grin.  It says, "OOOOH! Let me see that! I know what to do with it!" So, without a second thought, I just hand over a brick because Tantra seems really interested in the architecture of it. There are oohs and aahs at the weight and durability of the stone that Tantra now holds. Then, it just tosses it aside. Tantra just chucks it away and says, "Pfffft. You don't need that anymore. You never did."

Tantra is not aggressive, mind you, just kind of .   .   . a very friendly asshole.  It has found an easier way but, is totally comfortable standing where you're at and hanging out with you.  Tantra is like that friend that comes to your house and starts to clean because they see that your home needs it and it's something they just naturally excel at or have a fondness for but, you get super uncomfortable because you feel like you should've cleaned it before Tantra came by. Tantra isn't your housekeeper; it's just a friend that wants to give you a leg up.

I don't know if I'm having as much fun as Tantra is with disassembling my Castle of Seclusion but, I'm so riveted by Tantra's invitation to see what is both beyond the wall AND at the center of it. Tantra says, "PUT THAT DOWN! All you're doing is straining your back. Why are you dragging and stacking all this heavy shit, MAN!"

*My Tantra is currently very 1970's, with a commanding mustache (slight fu man chu-ish) who wears bell bottoms and has very well manicured feet for walking around barefoot all of the time through other people demolition projects.*

I don't ever have a good answer for Tantra. 'Why?'  Because I was told to, I was trained to, I was programmed to believe that the only way to be truly happy is to suffer through the hard parts to reach VICTORY! My happy is LOVE.  So you can imagine what I've been keeping out of my Fortress and the type of "love" I've been letting in.  If it was painful, I just opened the door, fan fare and all .    .     . " The more you suffer, the more it shows you really care. Right?"  So, I repeatedly suffered GREAT amounts of pain that still twitch in my body while I sleep. I kept trying to prove how nice my love could feel to the recipient but, I stopped receiving a long time ago.

Tantra didn't bring me a solution; it just offered me a way through my barriers. I don't have to sacrifice anything or become a devotee to anyone but, mySELF.


I've only ever given to others; how now brown cow do I give to myself?

I feel like I need a list or maybe a diagram or bar graph. Perhaps .     .     .  schematics, this seems like a schematics situation. Do any of my followers have an instruction manual on 'How To Give to Yourself After 32 Years of Leaking Love'?


Fuck My Life

Well .    .    .  I guess I'll have to sit down and really figure out what makes my SOUL SING, my HEART HAPPY, and my KITTY PURR (because the secret to happiness is recognizing she needs attention too).

Oh Tantra, I really hate playing games where people say stuff like, "It's about the journey, MAN," or "Everyone's a winner." I despise even more having my questions answered with a question because just answer the fucking question, guy! BUT, YOU are enticing and your words intoxicate my soul to remember things that my world has spent my entire life trying get me to forget.

So .   .   .

Come on in Tantra, I'm making tea.

My Meditation Moment - REPOST

I was told by my Teacher to reach out if I needed something; if I felt under siege. I don't know that I need anything in particular other than to get this next emotional riptide completed. My body has been under attack since I returned home, jet lag, morning sickness, a severe cold. I haven't had the energy to do much but, I have managed to meditate sporadically. My Meditation moments do not look like the ones I see out in the world, whether on t.v. or in yoga class, no. Mine involve cataclysm, a break in the noise, that causes all that's inside me to just flow forth without my permission. All I can do is be there in it, it takes me to such depths; the silence is intoxicating. And the longer I sit and listen, the more I hear the absurdity of the things I tell myself; then I remember to really listen.

Meditation is not for pussies; there's a beautiful agony that keeps bringing me back. I enjoy the suffering but not because of the pain, because of the release of it. I call bullshit on people who have happy meditation time, bullshit. At this point, I can't even imagine being in a place of such stillness and not feeling so deeply into myself each time, that I am brought to tears.

To recognize all the things you haven't forgiven yourself for. To see the areas in your life where you are continuously playing small. To really feel those fragile places within yourself and just let them be . . . It's fucking terrifying, you know? Not being shielded, guarded, barricaded in behind my own nearly impenetrable walls is the scariest thing I've ever done. I had forgotten how to let myself back in.

Admittedly, there is a small chamber within me that I just don't want to share; stories I don't ever want to breathe aloud, memories and pleasures that are all mine, mine, mine. Then I start to question my own integrity, here I want complete honesty and yet I want my own private shit and then I remember to be quiet . . . and listen.

I get lost here sometimes. Each and every time I go deeper I find some new pain that I want to grieve over and let go, but there are so many. Although, each sob not held back, each free tear brings with it a volcanic heat that burns through the emotional records of my past. There's no need to tag, file, and categorize; no one but me, is keeping track anyway.

Beneath the layer of active suffering are the quiet injuries that have been self perpetrated. They are the times I became someone else for any reason; fear, safety, survival. A string theory web of beliefs that I don't even follow but, hold onto regardless. There's a temptation to just rip them all down, start from scratch but, I'm not ready for that much destruction so I just listen.

I hear the fan in my bedroom. I hear water running through the pipes in the walls. I hear my heart and my breath and my sobs. And it's in all that anguish, when I am just hearing it, when I am just LISTENING that I realize I've never properly used my ears in my entire life. I'm listening to the surface noise not the rich, deep sounds that my body just plays.

If you were to ask me face to face, I would never be able to articulate what I feel as well as I did here. A digital soliloquy gifted in a moment of what feels like peril. Each time I exhale, every moment of unguarded survival is a victory for my vulnerability. The muscles that have held my body so firmly for so long just begin to melt and I literally crumble to the floor.

Right here, in this moment, is the absolute most strength that I have ever had to display. As I lay, physically weakened, emotionally exhausted, and spiritually stretched, I find my peace. There's no need for my walls, I am safe. There's no need to feel lost, I am home. I am home.

Enlightenment: Who Gets to Decide What it is?

The Path to Enlightenment can be a very difficult one for those who have a very specific idea of what enlightenment is. For some, it is the end goal to a life well lived. For others, it is an unattainable state, only reached after death, after suffering on this Earthly plane. For me, enlightenment is an awareness that there is knowledge both within myself and outside of myself that is available for my use.

There are certainly moments in my life when I feel I am more enlightened; they are usually dependent on how much time I am spending alone to introspect and educate myself. I meditate regularly, read, ritualize nearly everything I do from drinking my morning cup of coffee to playing with my children, and simply strive to be a better version of myself everyday; even if just slightly.

Recently, I was told that I wasn’t as “enlightened as I think I am,” which hit me as an odd statement. For one, I don’t tell people that I am indeed ‘enlightened’ because I think that it is a rather nebulous term. Secondarily because, how do they know?! Is our individual level of Enlightenment something that can be judged by others? How much XP do I have to obtain before I can level up to a quantifiable point for others to determine how enlightened I am or am not?

I think Enlightenment feels unobtainable for many because we are using other people’s idea of what it is to appraise it for ourselves. If you by the literal dictionary definitions of enlightenment, there are three:

  • the state of being enlightened (freed from ignorance and misinformation)
  • a philosophic movement of the 18th century marked by a rejection of traditional social, religious, and political ideas and an emphasis on rationalism
  • a final blessed state marked by the absence of desire or suffering.

I follow the first definition because it feels most in alignment with my Soul. Although, I will say that my Enlightenment isn’t an end all be all state. My Enlightenment is ongoing and ever evolving; it occurs over and over again. Every time I learn something new about myself, every time I resist an argument that doesn’t deserve my energy, every time I level up my questioning.

Enlightenment, in my opinion, is a misnomer; it can’t mean the same thing to everyone because we all start and finish at a different place. So many factors have to be taken into consideration; upbringing, line of teaching, religious beliefs or lack thereof. Perhaps a better term for what I am would be, Illuminated. I am lucid, resplendent, mentally depurated and still have room to expand upon that.

No one gets to tell you whether or not you are enlightened; though many will try. It’s my personal belief that if you are telling someone they are not enlighten or otherwise telling someone who they are, then perhaps you yourself are not as enlightened. A big part of becoming enlightened, is realizing that each person is on their own journey and that you don’t have the right to judge that one way or another. What for them may be a new level of knowledge, for you may be something that is second nature.

Regardless, Enlightenment is about pulling each other up, not trying to push each other deeper into darkness. Illuminate the path for those that need a light and are welcoming of it, because I believe that’s what true enlightenment is really all about.

The Lover & The Unlovable

I have always had a very keen understanding of the various forms of love. I come from a very twisted version of it, so sometimes I am able to find the love in situations when there seems to be none present. I've been told this is a very damaged way to view it; but sometimes you have to find the beauty in the broken. 

The unfortunate thing is that not all people are capable of being loved but, it's not their fault, that blame belongs to someone else. To be a Lover to the 'Unlovable' is difficult. It takes a commitment within yourself to ignore those moments when they are acting like complete assholes, when they are pushing all your love away, a commitment to just stand there and pour more love into the hurt places. It can be extremely exhausting doing this, especially when they fight your love so much. Not because they don't want it but, because it feels wrong, foreign, inappropriate, undeserved; like an assault on their senses.

I have been both of these people in my life, so have you, the Lover And the Unlovable; both roles demand sacrifice, both roles require courage.

In one of my relationships, I was the Lover to my abuser, whose love was shaped by his perpetrators and his drugs. He loved me repeatedly with his fists, his tears, his addiction, his injured inner child. After two years, it unfortunately got to a point when my love for him looked as though it was going to cost me my life and I had to escape; heaping more pain onto that pile of Unlovable and taking a healthy dose for my own.

In another relationship, I was the Unlovable, or at least I feel that way a majority of the time. So much of my past had beed drudged up, so much of my brokenness affected our relationship. We each, with our own Unlovable parts, pushed as the Lover pulled over the span of nearly a decade.

Truthfully, there's nothing anyone can do to change that feeling on their own. Even at moments in my life when I am at my absolute best: healthy diet, workout daily, meditating on the regs, libido at a constant peak, like alpha bitching it to the max; even then, I have moments when I feel I am not doing enough to be loved.

In moments of tension, when mistakes arise, when we fuck up, we start to feel that our value is sliding. It's then that the Unlovable has to be able to trust that the Lover isn't going to hurt them the way everyone else has. You have to try convince yourself that it isn't a trick when they pull you in close. That when they reach out for you, it isn't to strike you or grab you by the hair. That when they say that they are upset, it isn't going to end with you being tossed on the streets for the night.

The Lover in those moments has to have the determination to persist despite the growling. They have to still reach out their hand even though the Unlovable is baring their teeth. Any of us Lovers can show a bite from someone we loved before; an Unlovable we kept trying to pet and cuddle and care for. 

Sometimes, the love is too painful to accept. Sometimes, the yelping is too scary to keep trying so both parties have to move on.

And sometimes, the Lover has patience and the Unlovable softens, and eventually love moves between them with ease with no cause for trepidation on either of their parts.

Or at least that's what I've heard.