Dear Loveliests,
This morning, as snow gently covered the trees outside my window, I was in the final stretch (or so I thought) of finishing a little beauty to share here. But to my surprise, Eros, as she is wont to do, rippled through me, penetrating my body and psyche with an inquiry that kinda derailed my ability to do the aforementioned finishing. Funny enough, I began the contemplation with a chat about how I’ve felt unable to finish any piece of writing lately. It seems I’m smack in the middle of a big process unraveling this very fixation on finishing.
I mean, what is finishing? And do we confuse it with climaxing? I began pondering the difference between the two. Which naturally led me to an exploration of self pleasure.
My experience reinforced what I already knew, yet couldn’t, for a moment, remember: Finishing seems to be a sense of resolve. The feeling that one of infinite waves in the creative/erotic process has come rolling onto shore.
Climaxing on the other hand? That’s more akin to riding a once-in-a-lifetime 100-foot wave. And sure, we can experience multiple climaxes in a lifetime, and even in a single sexual experience… but that doesn’t happen all the time, and when we start expecting it, well… it’s just not that fun. Or useful.
So, climax-free, but still richly nourishing pleasure had, I began noticing how I was trying oh so very hard to climax through my contemplation.
I decided to put it down for a bit. To finish, for now. To let go and, as Luke so wonderfully reminds me when I’m all twisted up in these little conundrums, “let it happen, don’t make it happen.”
It’s a good *wink wink, nudge nudge* to take a step back from the pressure of social media, which I have a deep love/hate relationship with, to provide a constant churn of output. Which is easy when I’m in the creative throes of the crest of a wave, or the trough - whenever I’m in some extreme of intensity (hmmm… climaxes? yes, I think so) - but not so much that liminal middle space, the rise and the fall. That part is challenging. Trusting the slow burn of descent and emergence. It absolutely terrifies me sometimes. Other times it just feels kind of abysmal, boring, restful even. I’m really not great at resting. It’s another of the lessons I’m currently learning.
Restful, abysmal, boring… they’re not bad. They’re just different from the constant hits of dopamine we as a society, and me personally, through quite a number of years of terrifyingly exciting self abuse through shitty relationships and eating disorders, have grown accustomed to.
It can be a challenge to sit down, relax, and read a book or watch a movie (though Lucifer, on the other hand, well… I just finished watching the series and now I’m going for round 2. Lemme tell you it was prettttty climactic.)
Oh, and doing Nothing? This is the greatest challenge for me, unless I feel truly exhausted. And even then, I tend to fight it a bit before I realize I’m crying like a child who’s missed their nap. Exhaustion is one of those extremes as well, I suppose. I like the intensity of getting there. I love the process of creating and creating and creating some more. I don’t covet the crash quite as much.
Speaking of exhaustion, It seems my thoughts are now exhausted! So in the spirit of letting it happen, not making it happen, and not feeding the beast that tells me I need to climax or write a grand masterpiece to be worthy of taking up space, I’m choosing to just share this. Open ended. No conclusion.
Thanks for reading <3
xx Faye
Writing it’s all coming is a great joy and passion of mine and I aim to keep most of it free and available for everyone. That being said, a girl’s gotta eat… so if you’d like to fund my chocolate addiction, consider a paid subscription ;)
Good writing flow.
Ahoy to the journey and learning to rest. Sweet Eros energy. Emerging when least expected sometimes. 😊