Cigars and Brandy

Fast –anchor’d eternal O love! O woman I love!

O bride! O wife! More resistless than I can tell, the thought of you!

Then separate, as disembodied or another born,

Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation,

I ascend, I float in the regions of your love O man,

O sharer of my roving life.

Fast Anchor’d Eternal O Love! By Walt Whitman

I'm in Ohio as I write this.  While scanning chanels in my hotel room, I happened upon a program relating to one of my favourite topics, sex and sexuality.  My attention peaked when I saw the title, The History of Sex, flanked with high flames flickering and crackling, it reminded me of hell.  Did the producers intend to connect sex and sexuality with heat, passion and fire, or did they intend to insinuate sinful human nature, connecting it instead to the dark side of our personalities?  Why should anyone agree that pleasure is bad?  Is it because one feels weak in the grasp of it?  No one wants to feel loss of power.  Is it because one feels strong in its ecstasy?  With strength comes empowerment; only the church and the government are allowed this side of pleasure.  Love and sex are free.  Anything free is difficult to catch and control.

Catching the tail-end of the previous program about sex and the civil war, the show included a brief mention of the famous American poet, Walt Whitman.  Walt Whitman was unafraid to be who he was, homosexual or bisexual.  He recorded many sexual experiences in his personal journals, many of them with men, usually a trade-worker.  I don’t believe he felt any shame for his love one way or the other and he obviously didn’t think twice about sharing his experiences in poetry or the written word.  He simply was who he was and that’s all there was to it.  He was a brave example of someone living his honest self.  It’s a tough thing to do.

If any of my long-time personal friends, people I call family, were to read my blog from beginning to present, they’d likely learn some things about me, especially concerning my sexuality.  None of them have come to me and questioned me.  If my parents saw me kissing a woman on her lips, they’d be confused but then they’d tip their heads and shrug their shoulders. I don’t think they’d be too surprised.

My mother wasn’t told by her doctor that she was carrying twins, but having experienced pregnancy once before she knew this one was different.  She had watched my father completely detach himself from my brother at birth simply because he was a boy (he had wanted a girl).  My mother repeatedly prayed that if she was indeed pregnant with two, that they both be girls.  Observing her two daughters mature, a question remained at the back of my mother’s mind - could she have changed the sex of one of her babies from a boy to a girl simply with prayer and intent?  It seemed that way to her, what with all my traits;  love of sports, cars, pants, running, climbing and hanging out with the boys - indeed, I was one of them. 

Like the boys, I didn’t wear a shirt when I played outside during the summer months.  That changed when I was seven.  One of the boys I roamed with commented that girls are supposed to wear shirts; that only boys can take off their shirts in public.  I felt humiliated.  I got angry, yelled back at him that I didn't have to wear a shirt if I didn't want to, that being a girl had nothing to do with it.  I ran inside and told my mother.  She restrained a laugh and said, ‘I guess we should start putting a shirt on you.’  I had been completely unaware of this social nuance.  On top of it, I had to hear if from some stupid boy and now I felt he had the upper hand.  I cried, felt cheated; robbed of an inborn equality. Society had agreed with him, he had gotten away with shaming me.

I don’t distinguish my sexuality from who I am.  It seems natural to me that at eighteen I wore my mother’s pant suit with my father’s tie to church, sitting next to him through the entire service.  Visually, I was dressed like a man.  My father found this amusing.  He should have seen it for what it really was - a bid for Power, I was his equal.

I may have lost energy that day when I was seven but I gained it back years later. 

If anyone has any questions about me or who I fuck, they can just ask, it’s not something I hide because there’s no shame in who I am.  If someone disagrees with me, that’s fine.  I’ll gladly put on my suit, fix my tie, and we can discuss it over cigars and brandy.

Continued on Tuesday August 2^nd, 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

What Beast is This?

…Larger surrounding scene appears as body becomes smaller in the bigger scene.  Crashing sounds around body.  Thunder, lightning, light and dark flickering.  Fear as the body puts hands to ground and looks around furtively.  Something attacks body from left – animal, dog? Wolf? – body’s arms go up to protect itself.  Heavy breathing in attacker.  Everything goes still, sense of waiting, not moving.  Eyes blink few times, then goes still.  Body rolls onto side and starts to spin, rolling over and over, legs and arms straight.  Ache in middle back.  Rigidity in back.  “You cannot break me”  Client adult mind. (break? I?) “I will not snap in two!”  Spits at man.  Older man bulking away from her.  Teeth clenched in body of man.  “This is not over yet.”  Man’s voice to client.  Threatening energy.  Body straightens.  Weariness but holding back straight.  Fear of collapse in front of them. (I? Them?) “My family.”  Turns and walks away and goes through door and shuts it.  Then opens door a crack and peeks out.  “Indigo come with me”  Adult mind.  Darkness.  Heartbeat only sound.  Back aches.

Medical Intuitive by Indigo, client - me.  Feb. 15, 2009.

The above was taken from a medical intuition reading by Indigo, for me.  What is a Medical Intuitive?  Wikkipedia describes them as: an alternative medicine practitioner who uses their self-described intuitive abilities to find the cause of a physical or emotional condition.

As with anything unseen, there is much debate on why this alternative healing method works.  The above is but an excerpt of a three page handwritten report which is highly accurate to not only situations and memories I’ve experienced, but to general conditions of the body and Spirit.  No matter, this entry isn’t about Medical Intuition. 

This entry is about Goliath.

When I started my sessions with Indigo, I failed in my attempts to describe the energy I refer to as Goliath, an opposing force.  Indigo, who is a very practical lady, listened but didn’t fully understand until she felt it for herself during the above reading. 

In the excerpt above, energy manifests, attacks, disappears, perhaps morphing into the older man.  Note the description…animal, dog?  Wolf?  Indigo couldn’t tell what it was, or if it was human.

For years this energy strove to dominate my dreams.  I awoke one morning to find scratches on my body.  I didn’t know they were there until I felt the sting of water.  When I got out from the shower I checked myself in the mirror.  Four long lines scarred my back.  Gemini, along with my mother, inspected my torso as I attempted to recreate the marks myself.  The marks clearly began behind my right shoulder and ran downward toward the left, mid-back.  Here’s the thing, I can actually reach the area, turn my wrist and scratch with no issue.  What I couldn’t recreate was the curvature of the lines.  Goliath?

One night my mother’s blood-curling screams had me bolting from the kitchen below to the area upstairs.  My mother was frantic.  There on the floor of my parent’s bedroom my father lay dead.  How did I know he was dead?   I just knew.  He most certainly wasn't in his body.  I felt his spirit watching as my mother begged me to call 911.  I walked into Gemini’s bedroom to use her phone.  What will be, will be.  As I spoke to the operator I felt my father’s spirit re-enter his body.  Sure enough he began moaning and wailing as I hung up the phone.  He couldn’t move, was in agony.  I watched him.  The doorbell rang and something interesting happened. 

When my father heard the paramedics come in, he suddenly had the strength to get up and sit in the chair.  He nearly fell forward but straightened quickly as heavy footsteps neared him.  Suddenly, he was coherent.  Drunk he was, but a half-dead man?  No, that man was gone.  Could he have brought himself so alive to lucidity, so quickly?  The paramedics checked his vitals, I watched carefully.  There was something unnatural about the power lent him, sitting him upright, allowing him to answer numerous questions clearly and correctly.  Perhaps my father is this strong.  My father collapsed, unconscious, after the medics left.  Perhaps Goliath is stronger.

Continued on Sunday July 31^st, 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

Death Came Swiftly, Unexpectedly

Our wounds are collective. 

My blood flows freely, unending.

It carries with it the anguish of a life, but no, a thousand lives, a million lifetimes.

We are all warriors, no?  Then leave me not alone to die, dear friend, sing me a song.

For I approached unarmoured, the blade deftly danced, and here I will be, dead before long.

This entry is dedicated to those of us who've been rejected while being our true selves, and to my friend StormerGirl.

A dozen babies lay swaddled, squirming for comfort, freedom, rest from the turmoil of their birth.  Had any of them enjoyed their journey from a weightless bliss to the heavy reality of artificial light, sudden cold and separation from Oneness?  Two infants lay side by side, they are just hours old.  Wrapped in pink cotton, one weighs lightly at three pounds, the other even lighter at two and three quarter pounds.  They will have to be incubated. 

Peering through the glass wall, smiling faces are seen, their eyes are curious, in wonder.  There is something pure, innocent and powerful about the miracle of life which inspires awe and vulnerability in humanity.  For one breathless moment, the world forgets its crude nature, it forgets itself.

‘That one there, you see her?  She’s the one, that’s your daughter.’ The lady said to her brother as she pointed.  The baby was serene, her little face round and pretty.  With alabaster skin, she resembled the fragile snowflakes that lightly fell outside that very moment.  It was the week before Christmas when this little babe was born, an angelic gift of sorts.

‘And that one right there, next to her…is the other one.  You have two, Joe!’ The lady resounded joyously.  ‘Who - that one?  No, that one’s not mine, she’s too ugly.  That’s someone else’s.’  He affirmed.  ‘What’re you talking about Joe, of course she’s yours.  She’s even dark like you.’  He was still for a moment then shook his head, ‘No, I’m telling you, that one’s not mine.’  Of course I was.

From day one, someone made it clear that I didn’t belong. I ignored them, marched onward with steel and leather as my skin.   My mind is not my friend.  I moved up, outside the earth’s realm, I am small, insignificant.  I pulled myself back, clawed desperately at the dirt and proclaimed, I am Here – See Me.  Still, I was alone.

Last year, I met someone who moved me outside myself.  It was the first time in my life that I braved anything so personal to me.  Healing the abuse and any other horror I found within didn’t compare to the fear I felt at being rejected by this person.  I had never felt so insecure, so vulnerable and utterly inept as I did then, extending myself in friendship.  

It didn’t matter.  I didn’t matter. 

Hallelujah Heartist was born of pain and rejection.  It was born of anger and hurt and confusion.  It was born of all the ugliness and insecurity inside of me, during a pinnacle moment, when someone agreed.  I was me – and then suddenly, I was no one.

I didn’t mean any harm, was not hurtful in my intent.  I never wore my cloak or held my sword though I knew I’d likely fight some battle when I searched your warm eyes.  I always risked being me so I could feel the beauty of you.  My armour, shiny as it was, would reflect your light away and I couldn’t let go to waste all that you are, so I never wore it.  I wanted to feel you go through me instead.  I did, a ripple of energy electrified me, gave me life, I would tremble, struggle for composure.  I’d take the wounds, the pangs of pain made real by our interaction, made real by the clear differences between you and me.  You were worth it to me.  You still are.

Continued on Friday July 29^th, 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

Sex Sells, but Who's Buying? I thought it was me...

READER DISCRETION ADVISED: This entry contains mature subject matter, vulgar language, and outrage. Please forgo this entry if you wish, I thank you for checking in either way.

He was strong, muscular and older.  Thick stubble coated his face; he’s definitely a man not a boy.  He’s in a fireman’s uniform, authentic, city issued.  The music thumps loudly and he begins taking off his clothes.  The Emcee is funny but annoying.  Of all the strippers who’ve defiled the stage, this one seems to know a little more about seduction.  He understands a bit more about what the ladies in attendance want.  Raising his arms he settles them behind his head, showcasing his large biceps and wide forearms.  He appears to be hot, he relaxes languidly against the pole, eyes shut, apparently exhausted.  Slowly a spotlight reveals his massive chest as he fades into his own world, his own fantasy.  His thick sculpted body feels the ache of repression.  Where was he going with his slow movements?  How would he ease his tiring angst?  He wasn’t with us; he was inside his body instead.  Our invasive eyes faded away until he was alone.  It was hypnotic.  I felt taken in by the fantasy of a man who was about to feel himself in love, about to touch himself in arousal and begin his release through masturbation.  Instead, he snapped out of seducing me and opted for bravado as women lined up, cueing themselves for humiliation.

We were there this past Friday.  The visit to the strip club was intended as a distraction from reality for Ana’s cousin who was re-diagnosed with breast cancer.  Our outing would be about escape, control, power.

The men at this place showed little interest in seduction.  After the first show, both Ana and I felt sick, literally.  We weren’t new to the strip club, though we hadn’t been to this location.  Some things had changed since the last time we visited. 

I was disgusted by what I saw, it was painful for me.  Women paid these men (who should've been seducing us) to objectify them and humiliate them.  Maybe these women didn’t see it that way, maybe they didn’t know better.  The women lined up on stage, one after the other, so these ego-filled strippers could pretend to fuck them (as if they were doing these women a favour, as though these women were un-fuckable).  In one scenario, a woman held on to the stage railing while the stripper lifted her legs in a wheel barrel fashion, pulled her head back by her hair and fervently pounded his hips against her, fucking her viciously.  She didn’t ask for that, but that’s what happened.

Over and over the scenario of domination repeated varying only slightly. These strippers made their way to the stage exuding a larger than life attitude yet they were unable to dance.  Once on stage, they only took their clothes off in reaction to audience response, after much ego stroking.  Why am I doing all the work?

Well…fuck you and fuck this shit.  These men were in control.  Since I held the cash and was in a women’s strip club, it follows that I should be in control.  I was there to objectify them, so why was I feeling used? 

I didn’t go to the club to let any man tell me what to do.  I didn’t go to the club to have the emcee attempt to brainwash me with his mantra of, ‘you came here to see cock.’  No I didn’t.  Don’t tell me what I came to see.

Don’t objectify me, don’t tell me what I want, don’t humiliate me, don’t tell me what I need, and don’t expect me to pay for these wonderful services, because guess what?  I’ve been objectified by men, been told what to do, been humiliated by them and told what I needed.  You know what?  It was all for free.  I didn’t like it then and I don't like it now.

These men revealed everything, they never used to.  They presented their long skinny dicks like it was a prize, the epitome of a man.  There are women in the world who know what it means to be a man, better than these. 

It’s a strip club for women - don’t sell me what you want to sell me.  Sell me what I want to buy.

The problem: the club owner is a man.  Only a woman knows what a woman likes.  If he was a good businessman, he would’ve asked instead of assumed. 

What’s worse?  After the male dancers have danced, the club allows men to come in from the streets, turning the women’s side into a bar.  Do you see?  This is not for us, this is for them.  Women are their hunted, gathered prey in a small dimly lit space vulnerable to predators who linger outside and are now allowed in.  This is not respect.  This is victimization and control.  This is bondage.

Men who cannot surrender to the essence of a woman cannot understand her Power, cannot love her Power, can never hope to become it.  If the owner of the club respected women, he would not sell sex like a man.  He would seduce the roses between our thighs and stroke it like a woman.

How can we allow for a safe place where women can be in control of their own fantasies?  I know there are places in other parts of the world.  Nothing here comes close.

Since I have no capital to remedy the situation with a club of my own, I’m leaning towards starting an ulterior blog where I can express my idea of fantasy, seduction, power and control, as a woman for women (or men who want to know).  This idea isn’t new but personally, I’m angry about what happened and feel a need to materialize an equal and opposite energy; women in control of their sex, their body and their freedoms.  If in my fantasy she wishes to be degraded by a man, so be it, the choice is hers and that’s what’s important to me.  It’s a little battle but I plan to fight it. 

Continued on Wednesday July 27^th, 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

Destroying the Mold - Don't hit me with your Bible...please

‘Society exists as a hypnotic state, and the crowd is a hypnotizing factor.  You are born, but when you are born you are neither a Hindu nor a Christian, because consciousness cannot belong to any sect.  Consciousness belongs to the whole, it cannot be sectarian.  A child simply is, innocent of all nonsense of Hindus, Buddhists, Christians.  A child is a pure mirror.  But immediately society starts working on the child – a mold has to be given.  A child is born as a freedom, but immediately society starts killing his freedom.  A mold has to be given, a pattern…Then society gives concepts; then society gives prejudices and systems and religions.’

Life, Love, Laughter, by OSHO.

If I don’t trust you, there are three things I won’t discuss with you; first, why I became a vegetarian; second, my political view; third, my religious beliefs.   Why not?  These three topics are controversial, people get wound up, wars ensue and I’ve been personally attacked in relation to all of these.  I’m careful about trusting in these areas.  If you’re reading my blog, I’m trusting you’re open-minded and will care for my views, just as I care for yours.  I’ll discuss one of these here.

Stormer is a friend whom I’ve known since she was four. Her sister and I were close friends.  Lately, Stormer has been harassed by said sister.  Come to church with us (on a Wednesday).  Are you going to take down your posters of Halestorm and Evanescence?  They’re open doors for evil.  You should throw out all your horror movies they attract the devil.  Essentially, Stormer’s sister and her husband believe in fear, they fear the devil and God.  Bible-thump: to believe in the devil and in God is to believe in two gods; sounds like they’re breaking the first commandment to me.  Don’t they trust God?  Why are they so afraid? Are they guilty of something?

Jesus.  My view of the story of Jesus is not mainstream.  I‘m interested in the real person, his reality, and I’m especially interested in the way he loved.

Please keep an open mind for the following discourse, you might be surprised.  Jesus, like his cousin John the Baptist, was raised an Essene.  Little is known of the Essenes. They were outcasts with varying sects within. Modern scholars sometimes bundle them with similar sects of the time.  Outcasts? Why? They believed in aliens, UFO’s, reincarnation, vegetarianism and their teachings were passed down through prophetesses. (Read through the New Testament, there are references to all of these, yes, even UFO’s).  If you recall, John the Baptist lived in the forest surviving on insects and honey.   Logic:  If baptism is a rite of acceptance in a belief system, then logic follows that Jesus, going to his cousin John to be baptised, would be re-affirming his own spiritual belief system, that of his sect of the Essenes.

My favourite topic in relation to Jesus is the way he loved.  I believe Jesus loved Mary Magdalene, the former prostitute, sexually.  Bible-thump:  being the first person Jesus appears to after he’s risen, one would think she’s important (she’s even a saint), yet in the bible she’s mentioned only in the gospel of Luke, and hardly at that. 

I believe Jesus loved his disciple John the same way I loved Aries.  I’ll go further, a big part of me believes Jesus loved him physically.  Bible-thump: John is known as the one whom Jesus loved.  I thought Jesus loved everyone? John was favoured.  Who’s John?  John was the youngest of the disciples, he’s also known as John  the Apostle, or Beloved.  Generally, he’s depicted by artists as the disciple without facial hair, often leaning on Jesus’ chest.  One can hypothesize the age difference, assuming Jesus was in fact thirty-three when he was crucified.  Jesus also gives John the responsibility to care for his mother upon his death.  Interestingly, John is the one whom Mary Magdalene runs to after Jesus appears to her.  John too is only mentioned in one gospel, the gospel of John.  You would think the two people who obviously held favour with Jesus, would star prominently in the record of his life.  Apparently the bible missed that.

Bible thumping is only as good as the editor of the source.  To believe anything without question, without feeling truth, is to surrender power and intelligence to another who would decide for you.  I believe in, God eternal within the body, so this is how I live.

Destroying the mold makes warriors of us all.  We are common in that if little else.  Isn’t freedom and love worth the fight?  We all deserve to Be because the reality is, We are all here.

Continued on Monday July 25^th, 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

Gemini

 Gemini’s words…

‘… So much I don’t understand and I am so angry right now, so angry.  I screamed to let it all out and I know I have not yet done an anger release regarding the abuse to release that part of it.  As I cried on Tuesday night I felt my pain and anger and sadness and disappointment that my parents will never see me that way - in pain, they will never see the deep pain they caused, they will never see the impact of their poor choices in my eyes.  They will never see me.

So the opportunity is now here for me to let out my anger and hatred and I will take it.  Kids or not, I don’t want this fuckin’ shit in my body anymore.  I want all of it out, every last fucking grain of sand worth of this fucking abuse crap the fuck out of my beautiful, perfectly normal and healthy body.

I could scream right now “get out - get the fuck out of my body”.  It’s so tiring. It’s a good thing that I know this is all worth it and that I am not afraid of the dark.’ 

When I was nine I would ride my bike, a hockey card in the spokes of my wheel, sputtering up and down pebble filled lane ways in my neighbourhood.  It was my favourite thing to do.  Most of my childhood memories consist of this, along with jumping roofs, climbing everything and pretty much being an ideal case for the use of psycho-stimulants.  Returning home, I would back my bike up like a motorcycle and park it.  My father wanted to remove the middle bar, removable on most bikes at the time, to indicate it was a ‘girls’ bike.  I told him no.  I liked the bar, made my bike feel more like a motorcycle.

I’d go into the house and wander downstairs.  I knew exactly where Gemini would be.  Standing before an olive-green refrigerator, chalk in hand, Gemini would be teaching a class of imaginary students.  I’d sit in for a moment or two as she took attendance, then get up and go, leaving her alone once more.

Checking in, that’s all I ever did with Gemini, was check in.  We were two hugely separate beings.  She loved dolls, dresses and skirts.  I loved pants, cars and sports.  There was nothing between us that was remotely the same.  She was pretty, fair, intelligent.  I was homely, darker, in ‘special-ed’ for language-arts and math.  The F’s on my report card didn’t represent ‘Fantastic,’ they indicated ‘Failure,’ I was an ‘F’ student.  Gemini was an ‘A’ student right from the beginning.

When the sexual abuse occurred, Gemini and I never spoke to each other about it.  We handled it alone.  That’s how it was for me, alone.  That’s how it was for her, alone.

Gemini’s words above are recent, Friday past, to be exact.  Gemini has not read any of my blog entries since ‘Can’t no Preacher Man Save my Soul.’  She felt the stark nature of my words concerning the abuse.  For years Gemini’s issues have been with our mother, gliding past the core issue with our father.  For me, it’s always been about my father.  I don’t defend him and I won’t defend him.  A few years ago when my mother was admitted to the hospital because he had roughed her up, I told the administrators exactly what happened.  My father was put on probation for three years.  I was still living in my parent's home at the time (insert smile here).

I’ve never given Gemini proper credit for being my Hero.  As a child she was timid and often hid, protecting herself from the noise as my parents argued.  I would creep out of the bedroom to listen at the top of the stairs.  There’s no courage in stupidity; I was born this way.  Gemini, however, was a quiet fledgling who has emerged from the ashes as a beautiful Phoenix, strong and graceful in every way.

I’m sorry I never stood by you Gemini.  I’m sorry I never clawed at him and ripped his face off when he was with you.  I’m sorry I rolled over in exhaustion and relief that it wasn’t me.  I’m sorry I failed you as your twin sister.  I’m sorry I was there and didn’t protect you.  I’m sorry you experienced the fucking horror, alone.  I’m sorry that ‘I’m sorry’ can never change history, eradicate pain, or cleanse your soul.  It should’ve been me.  It should’ve only been me.

I’m not sorry I chose to incarnate on this planet with you, I need you.  I’m not sorry that you’re smarter and prettier, I love you.  I’m not sorry that I’m at your mercy, doing anything you wish me to do to facilitate your healing, I serve you. 

I’m not sorry anymore because I’m here, you’re not alone.

Listen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2PqhOrgk11A 

Continued on Saturday July 23rd 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

i am weak, No, I Am Strong

Sitting on Indigo’s small loveseat, I recounted my exploration around my feelings for Aries.  Indigo nodded, listened, understood.  We filtered my confusion, the fog lifted and all that remained was the ocean, raw and unapologetic.  I was above water once again.

Immediately after the fantasies, I had the thought – I don’t care if I ever see her again.  This was Self-hate; Goliath striking me from the inside out, using my own guilt as the very weapon that would destroy me.  A stern voice impressed upon my mind, you must never hate yourself, this is sin, forgive yourself and let go.  It wasn’t my thought it was theirs, the ones who watch.  Of course I cared if I never saw Aries again.  Statements born of Self-hate bind us, turning our personal world into a place of pain.  I listened to the angels instead. 

I had loved Aries.  Not only had I loved her, I had been in love with her.  What is in love?  For me it was an active feeling, a need, a want.  My love for her was daily and present.  I had to let her go.  She wasn’t coming back.

After my two orgasms in relation to Aries I realized something…I was free.  Free to fuck her as many times as I wanted to in my head. It was painful at first, purposefully crossing that imaginary line.  Aries, however, was an adult and we had no relationship. There was nothing to feel guilty about.  Part of my process of letting go was making love to her as often as I wanted.  Our relationship had been primarily about her, now it was about me.  I would orchestrate and take as much from my masturbation as I possibly could.  No, our relationship wasn’t sexual but this was how I chose to heal from it. 

For years Aries denied contact with me, I felt weak in my love for her.  Weak in how I needed her.  Making love to her in my mind allowed me access to those emotions in order to transform them, to transform me.  I was strong in my love for her as I caressed her.  I was strong in my need for her as I slipped my hands between her thighs.  In my fantasy, we were strong together because there was no one there to say, ‘your love is bad, define it.’  No.  Not only would I not define it, I do not define it.  I am who I am.  I am Me.

This situation facilitated my entrance into Self; the Dark Goddess.  This is where I am now.  In this dark space, searching, wandering and resting.  No one in the outside world can lay claim to telling me who I am or am not.  Don’t tell me what it is because I’m here in the darkness, if anyone should know about me, it’s me.  This is the ultimate in personal Power, know thy self.

As of result of Indigo’s brilliance, many things became clear to me.  I had dated many men and although I had been attracted to their personality and kind heart, I wasn’t physically attracted to them.  I didn’t understand the sexual intensity that drove other women to stupidity.  I knew I hadn’t experienced what they had.  I had also never been sexually attracted to women either.  Aries was my first experience with love.  I loved her like no other.

Once, sitting on the sofa with Aries, holding hands, I had the thought, I have everything in Aries, now all I need is a man.  It’s a contradictory statement, I understand, but it’s an honest one.

Two is the number of people I’ve been sexually attracted to.  Eros was the first.

I’m new at understanding sexual attraction since my experience with it is limited.  With Eros it was immediately sexual for me.  I wanted to lick the sweat off of him almost every time I saw it.  There was something deeper also but sexually I couldn’t stop fantasizing about him.  He was everything I asked the Universe for.  We met eight years ago.

Eden was the second.  For me, the attraction was also immediate but energetic. Perhaps one day I’ll venture to explain this. The sexual attraction for Eden happened unexpectedly for me.  When it did, I couldn’t stop fantasizing about her either.  I asked the Universe for her also.  I met Eden about nine or ten months ago.  Sexual attraction kicked in shortly after.  It blew my mind away in January and I nearly imploded.  I haven’t seen her in months; things don’t often turn out as we expect them to.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMb3q4ITYoI&feature=related

Continued on Thursday July 21^st 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

Beauty and the Beast

Throbbing in the afterglow of an intense energetic orgasm, I let it ebb gently until all that remained was warmth, bliss.  I don’t recall how long I explored the fantasy, I felt gone a long time.  I sat up carefully, my energy had been expended and I was weak.  I combed my hair with my hand, perspiration had seeped through my pores and I was sweaty all over.  I shook my head in wonder, what happened?  Of course I knew, what I didn’t understand was how imagining Aries could illicit my response.  Panic surfaced.

What did this all mean?  Was I gay?  Was I in love with Aries?  A fine time to discover all this, I was already married to my husband, Eros.  The panic grew.  There was something else…guilt.  I had crossed a line in my fantasy, and even though we were both adults, Aries was my goddaughter, what have I done? Although my fantasy didn’t consist of carnal touch, energetically it felt sexual to me.  Could I have mistaken sexual feelings for sensuality all these years in relation to Aries?  Could the electricity in my chest when I held her have been sexual energy I didn’t recognize?  My questions were mounting. I scheduled an emergency appointment with Indigo.

The next day I felt better although I was still confused and my meeting with Indigo remained a few days away. 

Aries and I had always had a connection.  Perhaps this was all I was tapping in to.  Tenaciously searching for the truth, I decided to repeat the experience, adding touch.

Lying on my sofa, I let my imagination take me back to the same fantasy.  Aries' tender expression held my gaze, the low light softened the worries of time, she was the younger beauty that left me to die in the desert.  She stepped in, her full bosom pressed firmly against me. I drew her in closer still, my hands rested securely on her petite frame.  Drawing a fine line down her chest, I felt her open.  My energy slipped into her, pulsing, licking her.  Her body responded and she let out a sigh.  Her energy held me there, pulling me into a dance.  Aries’ warm breath whispered inaudibly against my neck.  We began to sway.  I tightened my hold on her, felt her nipples harden against me.  She lifted her chin.  I felt her urgency, her need.  It poured into me, dripped languidly down the inside of my body until it pooled between my legs.  I moved my face into her.  Felt the softness of her skin; felt her nuzzle her face into mine.  I released a painful sigh, directed it to her ear.  Could you hear Aries, how it hurt me all these years to be away from you?  My lips traced her pretty jaw, searching for the moistness that hovered near.  I breathed into her, she inhaled my heat.  Our energies merged, 'give me your tongue,’ I whispered.  Aries’ full lips glistened as she parted her mouth to reveal an extension of what lay between.  ‘This is what I taste like,’ I murmured, as the tip of my tongue met hers.  All these years and it came to this.  I wanted her to want me.  In my fantasy, she did.  Aries kissed me back, achingly fulfilling a need.  I was no longer her rejected in exile.  The more she kissed me the wetter I became.  All the while our energy pulled us, moved and tied us further into binding light.  I walked her against the wall, would not let her go.  We moved into my small meditation room.  On the floor lay a soft black throw.  I placed her down gently, held my weight as I lay atop her, caressed her forehead and admired her beauty.  My Mother Mary candle cast shadows, lighting this little room it resembled a cave, small, private and warm.  I touched Aries, kissed her; absorbed all her pain.  Her face will look different when I’m through, when I've consumed her every hurt and given her all of me.  On the fantasy went until I climaxed once again, completely bathed in perspiration and with the feeling that I had really just fucked her.

Emerging from another ecstatic exercise, I knew what awaited me.  My mind, my ego, all my fears, would now wake from their uncomfortable slumber to kill all the beauty I felt.   In a few moments, all that will remain will be ugly.

Continued on Tuesday July 19^th 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist

Aries, An Intimate Fantasy

A couple of years ago, upon the urging of my best friend Isis, I went to see a therapist.  Indigo is a therapist by trade, I call her my Life Coach.  She is a friend of Isis and a wonderful woman.  The re-emergence of my art is because of her.  As a matter of fact, the dripping red heart-work on this blog and my web page was painted for her as an expression of my love.  (Sexual side note: I painted it in a state of sustained arousal - two hours, with my hands, in near darkness).

I went to see Indigo for two reasons.  First, I felt I needed help in discovering my destiny.  Second, I was having trouble controlling my blood sugar.  I’m hypo-glycemic (low blood sugar).  As a vegetarian with a slow thyroid, being diagnosed with hypoglycaemia felt like the end of the world for me, I cried.  Healthy eating by all accounts should equal a slow and steady release of sugar into the blood stream.  This wasn’t the case for me.  Not only could I not control the  effects by any means, I was gaining weight due to the imbalance and fear associated with going into a hypo-glycemic shock, which nearly happened once.  I knew there was a mind-body connection I was missing.  Indigo helped me work through it.  Within two months of weekly meetings, my sugar levels plateaued.  They’ve been normal ever since.

Indigo counselled me through my issues, she listened.  I loved the one-on-one attention and her wisdom was not only practical, it was warm and loving.

Our sessions delved into healing the sexual abuse as well as my feelings around Aries and the family.

During a session about Aries, Indigo posed the question, ‘Was it sexual for you?’  I replied, ‘No.  It was never like that.  I was her godmother, I didn’t’ even think of that.  It was sensual, but no, not sexual.’  Indigo understood.  Anyone who loves beauty can easily be taken by a movement, nearness, a trusting look in someone’s eyes.  In relation to Aries, it was all beautiful to me.  It was also intense.  The way we loved our relationship, kept it private, loved each other, all of it was held with an underlying Power.  There’s a sensual quality about knowing how the other feels, yet saying nothing, feeling it and knowing it is mutual.

The next day I thought about my session.  Indigo had asked me the sexual question and I had immediately responded.  I hadn’t thought about my relationship with Aries in a sexual way, had never asked myself.  How did I really know?  Was I supressing something?  Learning to embrace the Dark Goddess, I decided to sit inside myself, search the darkness to see what was there.  Unwilling to lie to myself, I decided to explore my feelings around Aries, in a sexual way.

Lying on my sofa, my mind drifted into imagination.  Growing up Catholic meant masturbating was bad.  Being me, I learned to get around it.  As a child, I discovered I could orgasm without physical touch (insert smile here, nothing’s changed). 

My fantasy was simple.  I would start off with the basics.  I imagined me and Aries hanging out in my apartment, alone.  Standing in my living room, the dim light cascaded around Aries, bathing her in a soft glow as she met my gaze.  I focused on her face, vulnerable, painful with the unspoken, her yellow eyes, pleading.  She moved in towards me, put her arms around my neck, freely pushing her body against mine, eagerly searching to be held. Holding her had been my favourite thing to do.  I held her in my fantasy.  I could feel the energy from her centre and her heart slowly open, surrender.  I wanted to devour her.  She knew; she could feel me too.  I imagined a line down the length of her chest, saw it open gently to reveal pure energy, hovering against my own.  Incredibly aroused, I wanted to be inside that open space, seep into it.  It belonged to me.  Our energy shyly touched.  My mouth watered at the image, felt like the tips of two tongues meeting.  I was wet.  Our energy blended, merged, pulsated.  In and out it moved, in and out it breathed.  My every essence slid and coated the inside of her body; I wanted to be her every cell, fill her completely.  Urgency can be crude, I was fucking her with my energy - she was fucking me.  It went on that way until our energy extended down, inside our bodies and back up to our chests.  Controlling my breath, this fantasy became the best orgasm I ever had. 

Then something interesting happened; panic.

Continued on Sunday July 17^th 2011

Until then, I remain yours,

Lesley

Hallelujah Heartist