The Binary is a Buzzkill

Death of the imagination is death of the spirit. Living without vision for me is the lowest, saddest life.

And then also, there’s the trap of living only in our imagination, only in images; visions, social media curated one-dimensional selves.

We have to get back to the streets. We have to turn off our phones sometimes. We have to look at one another, in the flesh. To smell, to listen. To tell one another our stories, our hopes and fears and feelings and plans.

The more I live and experience and see and wrap my head around it I think in a large part, the revolution, the change we need in this world must and will come to pass in a revolution in communication, in relating to ourselves and one another.

I’m reading Emergent Strategy and just finished the section on Liberated Relationships. The queen, adrienne maree brown recommends radical honesty. She says we could step outside of the capitalist framework of effectiveness in relating by being vulnerable. Why not, “ask the questions you really want answered, speak your truth and let the relationship build inside all that reality.”

I’m continually questioning the Feminine/Masculine binary. Anyone whose taken a few to think on it knows that there is feminine in the masculine and vice versa. And that any and all definitions of what masculinity is and what Femininity is, are relative, fluctuating and ultimately self-defined. I’ve come to see that these words are meaningless. And more so they are harmful when used as classifications and rigid rules for behavior, expression and general being-ness. They are old control tactics that as time goes on, more and more of us can see through. As we feel into our own complexities and contradictions; our strengths, our thoughts and feelings, our feelings and thoughts, our thoughts about feelings and feelings about thoughts.

As Hannah Gadsby  asserts in her stand up show, Nanette (Go watch it now please if you have not yet), us humans have so much more overlap, so much more in common than our differences. Its the constructions, the stories, the roles we’ve been taught, indoctrinated and conditioned into that are so different.

And yeah, there are some chemical differences. But the scientific truth is that those differences in chemistry do not separate along the different sex classifications. Sex is a spectrum as is Gender as is Sexuality.

I truly believe that deep down we all know this. It is hella basic.

And yet.

We’re attached to stories. We tell stories it’s what we do.

To ourselves and each other. To one another and ourselves. All day long. All life-time long.

We become the stories we tell them so much. We follow the rules until we can’t remember that they were just rules, maybe arbitrary, certainly coming from outside of ourselves. definitely designed to keep us in line, separated, out of our power, buying things, endlessly buying things. And forgetting. That is not who or what we are.

I went down the Gender is a trap wormhole all to say that the communication revolution that’s coming (wait no, that is HERE) is by many being called a return to the feminine. The way I understand this it’s because many are saying what is needed is compassion, learning from listening, expanding our consciousness and selves by working together.

Kind of like giving life.

Kind of like gestating, growing, nurturing, supporting, multi-versing and multitasking a thousand hidden miracles in any given moment.

And sure I can get all in my ego about it and be like yup, that’s feminine, just for us who consider ourselves that(have been placed inside of or endlessly told that story) or who have certain body parts and biology.

But again, that’s bullshit.

We are all creators, visioners, we can all birth ourselves, worlds, projects, solutions, incredible possibility anew whenever, all the time.

So here I’m making a conscious choice to stop with the Feminine (Divine or not) verbage. It’s reductive and exclusive and old and trite and meaningless and based in the binary. Based in the failed attempts to control, birthed of lies. Fuck It.

Let’s imagine better, bigger, dreamier, more inclusively than all of that.

Let’s do it together.

To Be Continued.

I don’t buy into Competition

I do not believe in the competition model.

I believe in my big fat pussy lips and my well-endowed clit.

I do not believe in the competition model.

I believe in creative cooperation and the healing/Whole-ing potential of honest connection.

I do not believe in competition. I don’t buy that story.

It’s too expensive if you think about it. To buy in costs us our humanity and compassion potentially. It costs us our ability to truly see our own uniqueness and the uniqueness of others around us. It costs us Allies, Friends, Lovers, Business partners. It costs us a rich and thriving community. It might even cost us family.

My voice sounds a lot like my sister’s but it’s not exactly the same. My words and ideas are similar to my close friends but they are not exactly the same.

As similar and as different as we all may be, one thing is for sure, we are all necessary. Much can be learned from difference. Much can be learned from seeing, hearing or feeling ourselves in another too.

Maybe the people who trigger me the most in this life are mirroring back to me something that I just can’t, don’t want to, haven’t but really want to-must-get to-accepting within myself?

It’s a challenging and really expansive concept to sit with.

I hate you because you show me the ways in which I do not love myself

Or

I hate you because you’re showing me the ways in which I hate myself

The terrain of this for me is dark, rocky and rough, the path is full of debri, sticks, big branches maybe even automobiles and small homes that have been blown apart. Stories broken.

I need to turn on my head lamp and start sorting though. The time is now and the only way out is through.

And I’ll take my time because, finally, I’m in no hurry.

What a gift to be left alone with all of our own poison. What a gift to be left alone with all of the garbage we’ve been clutching for so long.

A gift that feels like trauma. A gift that might feel like a punch in the gut, knocking us down to our knees.

While we’re down here lets wipe the tears away for a bit and really look around.

And ask some questions and take inventory

Who left you?

Who hurt you?

How did it happen?

What fell apart?

Can the falling apart be a blessing?

Can the rebuild be stronger, smarter, able to bend with the wind? Can the rebuild be more effective? Closer to the wholeness we were when we were babies?

What have you called in (conscious or not)?

What are you calling in now (as conscious as possible now)?

A life is a messy blessing

A life is filled with deaths and revelations

A body is a soft vessel for an ever fluctuating eternally contradictory magic life force

A body is a force is a border is a connector is a messenger

A body is a messenger and also the message.

Magic is Real

My son wants for his movies and TV shows to be real

He asks me how they can be real, how to find magic in real life

I tell him it comes from connections

When we connect to nature, to the land on which we live

Or to our animal friends

Or to eachother

One person can and will always

can and will make a difference

So just imagine what more than one, connected, unified can do

And what is magic anyway if not a change that once seemed impossible?

To affect this change, this complete transformation or alchemy with intention?

Quantum Leap or The Pretender anyone? All the Jobs I’ve had.

Both of those were TV shows, wherein the main character would take on different identities in each episode.

I feel this way about my work life when I look back.

This has been my life as a spy…or perhaps a divinely schizophrenic butterfly, transformed then reborn many times.

I’ve been working since 15 so it’s been 21 years.

Here’s a short-long list

Babysitter, Fast Food Worker, Bagel Shop Cashier, New Age shop at the mall, Skateboarding shop at the mall, Camp Counselor at Jewish Summer Camp, Direct Care provider in Group homes for disabled adults, falafel shop, cafe, several retail clothing stores, Yoga Teacher, Call Center for nutrition school, small business owner-Dandelion coffee, Reiki Practitioner, Farm and Flea market founder/organizer, Farm worker, Wheatgrass stand worker at the farmers market, Dungeon Switch, Bread stand at the farmer’s market, Jizz mopper and cashier at porn shop and video arcade, Live girl in Midtown kink store, Cashier at Head shop/sex novelty store, stripper, sales associate at a bookstore

Love, Me

One time someone gave me love and I did not feel it

One time I dug a hole

I caused a wound

I called on sickness and I did not heal it

One time

There was a gift

A love so simple and slight

I couldn’t see it in the dark dark night but I could sure feel it

Slow or fast or not at all

I still feel it

Big or small

I still feel it

There was a hand

The feel of fingertips

against my cheek

My belly

My thigh

A connection both deep and shallow

A desire

Bringing me back to my breath

What’s best

Parading through the days of our lives

Whispered advice

Across church pews

Finger interwoven with finger

Heartbeats keep time here in our quiet room

There is no move

To make

No right action to take

Only breathing and being

Sharing and freeing yourself from the constraints of rules and stories that will take your nose

despite your face

This here is bounded and safe

This is awake

Now I try to feel it

Gut/Heart/Brain/Bones

Antenna up; smooth, washed

Sense of smell heightened; Year of the Dog

A million times someone gave me love and I felt it

I smelt it

Stuck my face in rubbed my back in and rolled around in it

Let that love move my feet along broken sidewalks

Let that love speak my words for me; soft and easy

Let that love stretch my body, work my body

Read my books with me

Take my bicycle for a spin

Let that love smooth out wrinkles then make more wrinkles

Jump on beds

And call all the ex-lovers and say

Ha!

One day I found myself cradled in the strong branches of a tree

Eyes open it still took several seconds to surmise if I was in the desert or the swamp

I kissed her and said goodbye

The Irish way (not at all)

I left the outer layer of my skin on hers

There rough and soft mixed together to make something new both like and unlike me or you

It was a holiday, one I didn’t celebrate

My neighbor jumped into her sister’s car and they headed to church

I don’t do Sex Work I do Love Work

I use my hands, my body, my mind, my spirit, my breath and my heart in the work I do.

I love your body; gently and firmly, tentative at times, my touch flowing like waves of an ocean over you. The points where our bodies meet, I infuse those junctions with love.

As we breathe together we are both soothed into a serene flow, a psycho-spiritual place where it’s easier to collectively go.

There are tools I bring from past incarnations, tools set in my DNA from creator-Healers all the way back before we constructed time.

There are tools I’ve been gifted in this life.

And there is the warmth of sincere engagement.

I honor you, where ever you are at, as long as you are able to honor me. And by treating one another as the divine, perfect angels that we are, by looking on one another with the moon-glow-eyes of love, even for just an hour or two, we honor ourselves. We honor the true deeper reality of universal law that all is LOVE.

That these bodies are but vessels for GOD (Good Orderly Direction).

And these words are but reaching for GOD (Good Orderly Direction).

So, because the word Sex is too loaded and not quite accurate, and Love is just loaded enough and points at least closer to the general location of the magic space we inhabit in this work, I’m giving myself a new title.

I am a Love Worker. And Love Work is Real Work.

Accuracy in the words we use is important if we want to understand one another.

Understanding is important if we want to deeply connect.

Deep connection is important is we want to heal, to expand and transform.

Love is the path, the vehicle and the fuel.

The destinations are infinite.

I’m a true Switch and this week my Femme-Dom aspects, especially around intake, are shining Bright.

I get so fed up sometimes.

I know it’s not all men.

But this socialization of underdeveloped communicators, of treating me like I’m a drive through window and you’re hungry and drunk af, it’s unaccaeptable.

It’s not everyone. I am so lucky and grateful to have loads of sweet, communicative, lovely, respectful, concise and to the point clients who have done their research and reach out ready to have a coherent conversation and set up a session.

Some weeks though, especially at the end of my moon cycle and as the moon is growing, my work phone messages, IG messages and email just read like an irritating ass-hat parade.

I’m not going to hold back here. It can be tiring to do intake. I’m mostly dealing with men who haven’t been taught how to treat a sensual healer. And it seems they haven’t thought critically about it because if they did they might come to the conclusion that we are human and enjoy being treated as such, with respect and consideration.

In other words, a DM in my inbox that says, Hey Cunt, makes me sad for you and the time we both wasted in that non-interaction.

I’m going to go out on a limb and say that everyone who reaches out is desiring some form of connection. Whether it is just to play this little cat and mouse game of asking me questions that you could easily find right here on my website (Is that flirting!? Is that what that is??) or to actually schedule a time to come in and connect in the flesh. Either way, here are a few pointers.

First of all if it’s games you want, I’ve got games. Let’s choose some better ones than you not checking out my site before you reach out. Look into what I offer, look at the rates and even learn a bit about me if you’re interested. Then reach out when you’re ready to book. We can play some titalating games in person, once you arrive 😉

When you reach out please introduce yourself first. Tell me what you want me to call you. It’s just polite. Next, in as close to a full sentence as possible, tell me what you are texting/calling about. You’d like to know my availability for the day? Wondering if I offer P-spot massage? Do I have an opening next week?

Please feel free to share where you are at emotionally/mentally/physically/spiritually as you are reaching out to book. All the levels are involved so it is relevant.

Also, be ready if you are new to me, to undergo a swift and painless screening process. I’ll need to speak with a practitioner you’ve seen before to get a reference. I’ll also need a link to their ad and website. I’ll need to ask you a few easy intake questions and we can be on our way to Bliss-Land.

The whole thing can be fun and easy when you drop the shame/weirdness/creepy-feeling you have around sexuality and the open sharing of it.

We’re just humans. Doing our best. Right?

Show me.

Listen

Listen to your hungers and your fears, to your feet, your gut and your mind.

Don’t forget to open your door and step outside.

Listen to the marching band, some happy couple’s post-wedding. You can’t listen to everything at once. If you try it may get too loud, may cause your head to ache.

Then go within.

Again begin from silence

Maybe just the low hum of the refrigerator, the heat, a  large truck rumbling by, let the muffle lull you

Back to yourself.

And when you’ve rested up

And when you come to union or to relate. Sit/Stand/Lean in your power and listen to your queen.

The hands have a mind of their own

I’ve been working on bodies, with bodies and for bodies for a bit and my hands have grown wise. My hands have developed a sixth and maybe even a seventh sense.

I deeply enjoy our intake before a session. Have some water or tea or coffee. Tell me what you want and what you need. What has brought you to me.

And regardless of the words you say, my hands know the way.

I respect the body as a force of nature, a complex system of past experiences and future potential. And of course, the exhilarating present perfection. Our bodies, every body, whether someone has told you it is ugly, bad, too fat, too pale, too black, too hairy, too skinny, too-whatever, our bodies, all of them are miraculous. I mean, really.

Think of all they hold and all they do. All of the Automatic systems that regulate health and work, tirelessly toward healing.

So, Yes the hands have a mind of their own, and the body, aside from the mind it houses, has a supreme intelligence all it’s own as well.

And when we touch, they converse. We both alchemize.

Don’t you just love alchemy?