I. Most of them wanted burnt coffee, watered down tea, and stale pastries. Which as you know, I do not offer. II. When I let people in they got angry and reckless; they couldn’t find their expectations inside my shining cases. III. Rocky road. My flavor was not well refined; I begged for customers. IV. Still they wanted me to be something else. Biscotti? V. I tried to become what I thought they thought they wanted of me; I killed all of me. VI. Do they know my doors are open? VII. Maybe I give away too much for free. Maybe I'm not expensive enough. Might I consider how much energy my bun shop requires? Might I be more inviting? I wonder. Maybe I’m too open. Maybe they want to be persuaded. Maybe I do. Maybe it’s time, Ginger pie. ••••••••• There is something. Something about a dream I had. Something about the feeling of helping. Touching. Changing. Something about being part of it. The process of transformation. I wonder why a part of me held this desire so close to the chest. Was it because I got shut down? Rejected? Burned by others who claimed to want the same? Was it because I worried there was something wrong with humanness? Manipulation is a strange thing. How do you know when someone is being honest? How do you know when you are being honest? We live in a world of people who are mostly strangers to themselves. Lying and not knowing it. Not knowing the true meaning of that sinking feeling. ••••••••• How to say what you really mean? Be quiet. Wait for the feeling. Channel, don’t think, as you interpret. As best as you can, do not distort the message. “Beyond the superficial, the considered phrase, "It feels right to me," acknowledges the strength of the erotic into a true knowledge, for what that means is the first and most powerful guiding light toward any understanding. And understanding is a handmaiden which can only wait upon, or clarify, that knowledge, deeply born. The erotic is the nurturer or nursemaid of all our deepest knowledge.” — Audre Lorde ••••••••• The Muse — that is, Eros — emerges through the space of consciousness that is our bodies. If we want to receive her poetry, our sacred mission is to clarify our minds and bring our bodies more alive. Our purpose is to notice consciousness composing the symphony. To feel wisdom penetrating every cell of our being. Our ritual is to become her transmission. Receive transmit receive transmit receive transmit A game she calls it. We cannot control the what of being. Not really. We can affect the how of things — the environment — being we are it. There are questions: texture shape space weight spiritus. There are spectrums we move through. Formless form, shapeless shape; soulbodies. A million ways to say the same word a million ways to pour a cup of tea and find meaning in its leaves a million ways to evoke from life its infinite cast of characters. Learn to breathe and you can learn anything. ••••••••• I am full of joy and full of longing. Can I sense them dancing, hands clasped, entwined limbs, permeating? I am grateful for the tension — it means there is meaning. It means there is something worth the wanting. It means there is joy in the process, painful as it may be. It means pain is pleasure, too. It means I love you. I love you. I love you. It means I wake, rich with feeling. It means I am alive with something beyond me. There is connection Here. A sense of the ripe unseen awakened, reaching inward, penetrating body, tendrils sweeping every corner, emotion seeping through every pore, love expanding, flowing outward... Alan Watts would laugh. “Feeling is happening,” he’d say. “Connecting is happening.” It’s a happening and we’re emerging. A merging? What’s with the nouns anyway? We are more verb than any “thing,” static. What, in any case, distinguishes a thing from an event? Isn’t it all process? A rock, too, fades into stardust and that same stardust ripens as us. ••••••••• Joseph Cambpell says the first function of mythology is “to evoke in the individual a sense of grateful, affirmative awe before the monstrous mystery that is existence.” The second is “to present an image of the cosmos, an image of the universe round about, that will maintain and elicit this experience of awe.” If I had to choose a god (I have, anyhow) Eros is It. She is all things. Infinite forms. Eternal resonance. Joy and power and chaos. Pain and pleasure. Spontaneous combustion. Rhythm and texture. Flow and structure. Ripe fruit. My heartbeat. Between my legs, wet heat. A devilish temptress sweet as honey. A quaking mess of sensitivity. God and magick. The same pulsing.
Hi, I’m Faye, welcome. Here, we get a little naughty on the journey to personal empowerment. And we do it through the realm of the erotic. We move from prescriptive to expressive. From obedient to deviant. From copied to embodied.
The best way to support me in bringing more to this community is through a paid subscription. With a paid subscription, you’ll have access to the full archive of essays, poetry, and embodiment practices, plus monthly workshops, and my undying love.
I am glad you never water down your words or serve weak tea.
“But the awakened, the knowing one says: body am I through and through, and nothing besides; and soul is just a word for something on the body.
The body is a great reason, a multiplicity with one sense, a war and a peace, one herd and one shepherd.” - Thus spoke zarathustra