The beauty of your body is its undeniable uniqueness

are you dripping?

Words that create friction, fucking, fighting, loving. Feminine and Masculine. Neutral words. Beautiful, yet weaponized. Often against oneself. Often by others for personal gain. What happens when we reclaim their essence as the primordial energies through which everything comes into being? The yin and yang of creation. The chaos that gives way to order. The darkness without which we could never know light.

There’s a difference between buying into the system and playing with the system.

We have to agree on certain things, language wise, or nothing will progress. But mistake me not: I speak a language of freedom — of universal energy — whose interpretation is as vast or narrow, as deep or shallow as you choose to see. 

On a cultural surface of fear and resistance, words that point to unshakable power tend to be separated. “Women should have no edges” and “men must never show weakness.” Among other nonsense. You know what I speak of. It makes sense that many have been driven to harshness and anger and violent edges and non-traditional gender languaging in light of this misunderstanding, but I don’t think that’s the answer - at least not the ultimate answer. Because language itself is never the answer and always a rough translation of the inner feeling, or lack of connection with it.

It. Eros. The ineffable thing we cannot help but want to express through our being. The eternal longing to feel life and more of it.

This living, then, is an erotic process. One of intimacy with all things, should we choose to embrace the possibility.

Like it or not, you never know until you feel it in your bones. And even then, everything’s up for questioning. The truth is changing moment to moment. The heart sings. Beat by beat, the song proceeds whether or not our instruments are in harmony. Not that they should be always in harmony, but that every moment is an opportunity to notice where we may be off key. 

Sometimes we go off on purpose and it feels perfectly in tune. Jazz is a curious thing.

And maybe this is a big jump, (is it? you tell me) that the musicality of life’s flow makes the erotic response a perfect gauge for most everything, when it comes to relating. But that’s what I see. A body responding to its environment. To the feeling of things. A body’s receptivity to a power all penetrating. 

The question is basic: Do I want this? 

Yuck or yum? No or yes? Out or in? 

Fuck or be fucked? 

Yes, it can be both.
Yes, consistency is a myth. 

There is no ultimate answer in any of this. 

So in practice, it’s a bit more complex than, “take me now,” at least, when you’re playing the long game. The depth game, so to speak. It’s a teasing open of experience. A wading in. A series of now, and now, and now, and…

Beyond thinking,
how would you know what you wanted without having tasted its opposite? 
How would you turn on if you’d never turned off?

Lean into eros’ game, the thing that happens when you breathe.
Don’t rush to penetrate. 
Melt into the center of sensation. 
Layer, upon layer, upon layer of electricity.
Unfurl your brow and feel into your belly. 
When you play with this in between,
the apparent edges of separation
give way to a different reality. 

Only here can you know.
Only here, just for a moment. 
This moment, it’s liquid.

If water is its essence, what I want to know is: are you dripping?

I promise the answer to “are you wet,” never comes from your head, full of conditions. 

A socially constructed yes is like making love to drywall.

The body is obvious — it cannot lie. But you might be ignorant of its language. You might be afraid when the erotic truth does not align with the swirls in your mind, which were someone else’s before they became part of your lens.

The beauty of the body
— your body —
is its undeniable uniqueness.
The way your lungs respond to the whisper of a promise. How your lips tremble in a desperate plea for touch. How you writhe in sweet agony, waiting for the perfect moment to open that portal to the place beyond you, beyond conception.
How you feel the white hot thread connecting everything. 
                Pulling. 
    Pulling.
How you are a web of every experience you’ve ever been.
How most of you is a mystery.
And how though you seek, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

You will always want to peer into the abyss of possibility, tracing heat to the core of humanity, returning to the center of the web, the still point of infinity. Watching, enraptured, blessed with the beauty of experience. A pulsing, feeling, nervous system. Tendrils emanating a luminous flow of connectivity.

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