Thursday, March 27, 2014
Of course animals have mating "seasons" and other times when they aren't fertile or furtive or interested in being bothered or touched or climbed onto or approached. Other times when they called out and didn't necessarily care who came running.
But the female human has such a big brain she can basically decide when she wants to get hot or not.
When writing my book and reading again so many experiences I had when younger, then charting my longer relationships ebbs and flows I became very aware that there were times I was hyper sensitive and interested, almost too hot to touch and times when even getting everything on my list crossed off couldn't stir me to stand up.
What is fascinating about this class is that there is a logic that gets illuminated that otherwise gets lost in the shuffle of modern life. There are exercises that encourage a person to take what they are learning and create an exercise or experience which expands their pleasure in a variety of safe and sensual ways.
The experience today called SPECIFIC FRAMES reminded me of the story BREAD CRUMBS I put in my book. My editor tried to get me to change the name for the longest time. We even researched Hansel and Gretel. I was horrified when I learned just how violent the actual story was, not the fairy tale I remember where both kids get out alive. But I love reading my BREAD CRUMBS story because every time I do, I remember each and every step along the way that night. I remember what I was wearing and how he reacted. I remember what we did on the chair before ever getting to the bed. BREAD CRUMBS is a story I tried to tame down for public consumption, yet my brother encouraged me to keep it as raw and real as I wrote it. Celebrating my 36th anniversary with FOG reminded me of the many March 25th's we got to celebrate in the past. As men age their cycle changes immensely. It's wonderful I kept such a record of his earlier days when he was so hot I hardly had a head in heated exchange. It's nice to remember, like that best vacation ever, or the time I first saw the view from the Campanile in Berkeley. There are some moments we don't forget. What a gift it is if we actually made notes and can remember exact details that would have unfortunately gotten lost in the rush of advancing time.
at 8:39 PM
When I was young I was introverted and listened very carefully to what was going on around me. I trusted who I was told to trust. I didn’t question those whom I was told to trust. It never dawned on me. Three experiences in my youth inspired me to become less introverted and I learned successfully how to become more externally motivated. I won awards and the admiration of peers at that time. I soon discovered that having won (repeatedly) a top office the responsibilities involved necessitated I become entrenched with commitments. I didn’t have the freedom to explore in the moment what my deepest self wanted.
After toeing the line for 22 years I broke free. Tonight’s class asked us to write up a gratitude list. I wrote the basics like my wonderful home, friends, family, improved health, successfully ruled legal attack, and the gift of having found wonderful dance and yin yoga classes nearby. I’ve known for a long time that focusing on what feels good brings more good feelings than focusing on what hurts. I remember hearing a Maori healer once tell a class I got to attend the year before he died, “Give thanks when you stub your toe.” The next time I stubbed my toe I remembered and gave praise. It amazed me how much more quickly the pain of surprise and real pain dissolved.
When I was young I was vexed being confused. Elders told me to enjoy the chaos of not knowing. As I look back, I think this applies to the gift given in tonight’s session. You can focus on how others prefer pain and find pain acceptable, but you yourself, in your own heart and soul can smile and avert your eyes. There is bliss inside, a humming of internal joy that the body is alive and needs nutrition, movement, and loving attention. Life can be fun solving the dilemma to acquiring those needs. It doesn’t have to be a drag. It can be a joy.
at 10:59 AM
Saturday, March 22, 2014
In today’s second class it was brought to my attention that it is limitations placed upon us as we mature, usually quite unconsciously, that end up giving us the identity we take on as individuals. As babies, we are sponges, masses of clay on which the artist carves the next statue. As a baby I was told my older brother would do everything. I was seated in the middle of the room by my elders and asked what I wanted and how I would get it. The story goes, I always answered, “Marc will get it.”
It has taken many decades to return to my own self to determine that I will get what I want. Not how I’ll get what others want for me to get, or how I’ll get what I think will make others love me, but how I’ll get what will help me to grow and evolve into who I really am.
There are so many rules that we inherited and mostly agree to abide by without even questioning their origin or necessity. The work ethic that we must work five days to have a weekend off, or work fifty years in order to retire and do whatever it is we wanted to do in the first place is a debilitating rule and one the younger generation isn't buying so readily, especially since the job market has undeniably changed since the 50s.
We aren't supposed to make much noise, except on Independence Day. We're supposed to look a certain way; wear certain clothes in a certain way, eat according to accredited guidelines, enter and act in a bus or an elevator in a certain way. Rules have a tendency to deny citizens their individuality. I remember when growing up I was told in the United States we were free to be ourselves. Yet, in the USSR or China, children couldn’t have their own thoughts. Are these society rules for the betterment of our culture, or the ease of those hired to protect us from ourselves? I remember in English class 7th grade Mrs. McKenna said, “Once you know the rules, you can break them.”
If so much of life demands we do things as others do them, what could possibly make anyone feel brave enough to claim credence to a concept that adding more pleasure and sensuality to our lives would be a good thing? Shutter to think we’d become a hedonist or nymphomaniac. Certain circles would shun us if we smiled more and perhaps even hummed from time to time except when requested to do so?
I was able to sequester myself off the road more traveled years ago. I've learned by isolating myself that when I do interact with others, it feels sacred. When I had to interact as expected and as I'd done for decades, I couldn't see all the little miracles along the way because my eyes had been closed by the heavy pressure of conformity.
It's important to determine which rules really apply to our lives and which ones we can adapt or shift more to our making. One thing is certain, we do have choice, some more than others but if determined to gain consciousness one can create more choice instantaneously.
at 8:02 PM
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
The timing involved was perfect for me, as a leg up from one part of my life to another. Like this class will get me off my human legs and onto my Sagittarian ones. That big of a sea change.
Last night was the first of six classes. I listened at the time the class was taught. It’s only an hour long but I wasn’t sure what they were talking about or where they were going with it. What did confrontation have to do with orgasms? I thought the class was called Deliberate Orgasm. I did pick up that the class was getting us to think of our life in more sensual terms. That makes sense. They were encouraging us to become sensual researchers. I like that assignment.
Today when speaking with one of the educators it was explained to me that this being one of their opening classes, it is about sensuality. While on the call I realized that I had something to say about sensuality and as much as I know about my own orgasms, the chance to turn my writing towards the art of sensuous living sounds like a delightful adventure.
Laying on my beige micro-fiber (fake suede) love seat, I realized the beige dress I put on after court last night and haven’t taken off yet is a sensual adventure all in itself. It’s a dress I got somewhere for $3 about ten years ago. I’ve never worn it and it’s not my color but it’s been hanging there nonetheless. Yet it feels so good on my body; sleeveless, v-neck, buttoned up, a soft old cotton. Nothing itchy. Nothing restrictive. My body felt protected yet free at the same time. After class I put a coat on because I needed ink and groceries and had energy to go. I ran from Staples to Trader Joe’s and home again fully aware that other than my lavender no-show socks I had nothing restrictive or uncomfortable on my body. I don’t find fancy clothes or high heeled shoes to be very sensuous or erotic. But that’s just me.
Now, just sipping my thick kale avocado cucumber and strawberry smoothie seems a grand escape from the focus necessary to get my work done for the day. Yes, focusing on pleasure and sensuality for the next three weeks, I’m in! Are you?
at 3:13 PM
Sunday, March 16, 2014
My father said: “Love-making is an art form.” My curiosity about what goes on between Ken and Barbie has been persistent and riveting. No longer playing with dolls in the eighth grade, I asked Nancy in the locker room how to kiss because she already was, and I wasn’t. She showed me how to kiss my hand. It really is an internal process before it becomes an external activity/shared joy.
Since I was twelve, I’ve had many peak moments writing privately in my diary. At eighteen I was more corporate than ever after. When alone having removed all facades, I poured out the voice screaming inside, buried under all responsibilities and expectations. If I wrote long enough, without interruption, the endorphins kicked up as they had during my college runs. Once all circuits were realigned, calm advice and encouraging support flowed through me in poetry.
In my early twenties I was completely stuck in my head. Any effort to experience love-making as a smooth reality, cubist expression, or abstract interpretation failed because I was thinking too much. I didn’t begin to get a glimpse of what a woman’s orgasm was until my early thirties. At that time an astrologer told me my chart is all about the deeper mysteries of sex and I should be writing about it as I educate myself.
Once I started having physical orgasms, I became obsessed with them. They re-calibrated my energy, attitude, and emotion. Even if the experience was clumsy or uncomfortable, I walked away feeling more integrated. What I experienced I knew I had to describe for others. In that most desired embrace, I could hear the ticker tape translating touch into words.
Even being so cerebral, I did learn to let my guard down, untie my inhibitions, expose my most tender reaches, and allow myself to scale the mountain with bare hands. Once on top of that peak, I slowly learned to take in every inch of perspective and profound nature the panoramic view provided. I published my first book in 2013 about my quest for The Big O, my growing appreciation for its healing benefits, and awareness of what gets in the way of sensual satisfaction.
I once heard if a couple can keep a woman on the orgasmic plateau for four hours, that at any other time during that week, one sniff of his scent, hearing his voice, looking at his scribble or sketch, any sense of him automatically lifts her back into the orgasmic plateau and she'll be vibrating again. To me, that seemed like an experiment worth underwriting, and a behavior modification program that could alter world history.
Starting March 18th, I will be blogging about a three-week tele-class called Deliberate Orgasm (DO) put on by Welcomed Consensus. I won’t share the lessons these sexual educators provide, merely how I feel receiving this information and how it is affecting my life.
After working diligently at therapy and healing core wounds that have disturbed me over the years, Spring 2014 has almost sprung. I am about to blossom again. This class is a gift at the right time. Serendipity and synchronicity are assisting the universe in guiding me to life’s greatest gift and most manifested potential. After four years of spending night and day worrying about cancer, I have good years ahead of me to explore emotionally what I’ve previously discovered physically about orgasms.
Let me catch you up, in the past I’ve known exquisite bliss. One man, I knew for ten years, before we became intimate. He knew all the right buttons. He had a god-like talent. Like a laser, he focused in on reading what I needed most and how many orgasms were locked inside needing to come out. He let nothing interrupt him when we were together. With him I had three hours of orgasms. Twelve years later I experienced a younger man with whom I could enjoy five hours at a time. Unfortunately, I couldn’t commit emotionally enough to either man to enjoy my deepest desire in a more continuous manner, thus unable then to prove my earlier stated theory is indeed a realistic possibility.
Those moments when I got very close to that place my imagination had pointed towards, were the ones I lived for the most: tuning out everything but the curiosity and enthusiasm for how big these orgasms could be, for both me and he? In my forties, I believed the final frontier was a woman’s body. Yet still, overwhelmingly the media portrays feminine sexual satisfaction as the loving acceptance for a man needing medicine to continue “acting” like a boy.
Erica Jong wrote in The Devil At Large, women who write about sex either don’t live very long or are banished from all modern acceptable society. It is so worth the risk. During this class I will re-enter a part of my life that has been barren for 76 weeks. Will you join me?
A year ago while discussing sex with my mother, she said after reading my book, if given the chance to do life over, she’d choose mine. She still adores my dad, yet there are inner hungers each woman has that must be addressed in life. I hope in these next three weeks I’ll be able to write about sex in supreme and sublime enough terms that will lift it out of the debauchery and shame so many still feel in 2014.
After reawakening from long months of sorrow and fear, if the universe conspires, I will share how raw flesh, when compatibly united, needs no electricity or gas to heat up and become digestible? I can describe slow moments of anticipation when hair-by-hair, each follicle comes to stand at attention, waiting for the hands that play me like a Stradivarius? Eight specific blogs will describe what flows through me when I can release desperation and become delight.
at 8:55 PM
- ▼ 2014 (6)