A hunger for chaos. Patiently anticipating a meltdown. Something to give you clarity about what the world really is when it is tested by fire, and who you really are in such a state of affairs.
The reason I love words and reading them so voraciously is so I may stumble upon a hint, an explanation, a sign of shared perspective and similar inner worlds. Sometimes I find myself wishing for harmony to be done away with, to be stripped naked, to be confronted by the climax that ‘ought’ to happen, so there can be a face-off, a revelation of secrets, a submission, an admission, a certain moment of vulnerability and intensity neither of which can persist without co-existence.
There’s a word, and therefore there is a validation for the undercurrents of my soul. It is shared, I’m no alien or uncommon martyr or idiosyncratic eccentric or ill-tongued demon to reap this product of my tumultuous emotions. It is human, as it is shared.
After much thought and many doubts and some aha! moments, I struck upon my 2nd value. Something that means a LOT to me.
Before I go into it, I wanted to write about why I am trying to define my values. Values, as I understand, are important for a sense of identity and confidence. My values are rather broad and basic, and aren’t too restrictive, because for me, identity is rather fluid. It changes over time, and it should be allowed to – in the self as well as another.
So what do I mean by being (Sex) Positively Sensual? Much of our identity is tied to gender and intergender dynamics, given how we are all born out of the coming together of the masculine and feminine, whether in spirituality or sexuality. These polarities, often cause some level of conflict in our lives, our sense of identity, and our approach to the world.
I choose to be someone who acknowledges the importance of sex and sexuality in the shaping of these realms of our psyche. I choose to be someone who talks about it, especially the sensuality that comes along with it. No matter what, we all live in the physical world, and the physical experience matters extremely, as nothing comes close to ‘reality’ better than the physical. Or so I believe. The sensory experience of the physical world is a very surreal form of pleasure, that is key to creating memories and registering experience, in my humble opinion.
Sex and sexuality requires open communication. It requires debate and dialogue. It is in dire need of building trust and openness. If someone avoids complimenting another, or does not believe in the mutuality of pleasure in a sexual/sensual transaction, then I feel personally disappointed for them, for I believe in its necessity for the human experience.
Here’s the first post about my values: on Community.
I have made myself an open wound to grief. I allow it to quietly settle into the recesses of my heart.
Its tentacles spread out in directions countless, frozen – it binds everything that it touches.
I nurse it, for I am addicted. Within its blue knot, there’s an orange fire secure.
That’s where the embers glow amid dead coal.
In that deep pit, my sturdy soul.
When I was young, I thought I knew my story. My story was that of successful escape, that ended with glory. I believed so strongly in my story, that it was my map. I thought I knew what the mountains looked like, and where the rivers curved. I had barely traversed any territory, so I drew the map from reference instead.
Sometimes I feel like it was a childhood waste, for as a I grew up, little by little, I realized that my point of reference was wrong. My point of reference seemed like it was a satellite, but I realized it was just atop an obsolete watchtower. My map seemed to crumble around me, and it wasn’t long before it crumbled under me. I drove myself into the comfort of a pillow, finding the only security I thought I could retreat to. There was a life before this map – much of it was a lie, but it can’t all be.
Turned out that I wasn’t all wrong about everything. Some of the mountains were hills alright – very tall peaks, albeit. The rivers didn’t swing only in the places where they joined something called the ‘deep, blue sea’. I joined the dots again. I get this better now, I thought. I showed the map to other people, and some of them nodded. “You’re becoming a better cartographer,” they smiled.
Only, one way to know. I set out on the greatest adventure of my life.
Seasoned explorers have told me that maps are only right about so many things. Sometimes they don’t show you the full picture. But that’s, by no means, a reason to throw it away!
Now that I have drawn a better map, it’s time to learn how to use one. Can’t stop moving though; I’ll have to learn how to do it on the move. Challenge accepted.
“How to get rid of ego as dictator and turn it into messenger and servant and scout, to be in your service, is the trick.”
I’m no longer responding, or even reacting, from a point of love. I’m responding, nay – reacting, from a point of hope, from being slighted, from my ego. Here I was thinking that I had tamed the dragon, was completely aware of its movements and whereabouts, but all this time, it was simply waiting to rear its ugly head. Except now, it is a face I have encountered a thousand times. I have seen it through the lens of fear, doubt, bondage, confusion, submission, repulsion, ownership… And yet it is here again, and for the first time I look at it, with recognition.
‘What does that mean?’ I asked myself for the 1000th time. I wasn’t obsessed with the subject; my ego was. This wasn’t my curiosity – my curiosity is only concerned with my present path. I only fight the fire that stands in my way these days. This fire was not even a blip on my peripheral radar, and yet, it had my attention akin to a forest fire surrounding me. This was my ego’s attention. My ego springing into action like it had a thousand times before, except this time, under the guise of a tamed instinct – you almost got me there, kid.
I was going through some of my old pins – I love pinning quotes and poetry verses taken out of context to suit my own taste and whim. However, what I could relate to once so passionately, I simply couldn’t feel anymore. Don’t get me wrong – I remembered them, and quite vividly, but I felt detached from all of those feelings with a whiff of nostalgia. I do not feel as vulnerable and heartbroken as I once did. It was a glorious time as I knew that it was rock bottom, and that I would build my way up from there – I knew not how and when, but I knew that I would.
Now, I feel able and courageous and strong and in control, in many ways the way I had dreamed of it, but I feel rather un-human. Like somebody who has been taught how to live, instead of somebody who thrives, whose soul is wild as I once knew mine to be, and whose life was on fire.
Now, I know I need balance. I would never go close to that sort of life if I could help it. It was miserable and shrouded in fear. It was lived with awkwardness and reticence and fumbling.
How do I put this – I’d like something to happen out of the sudden. 🙂
Moments before embracing drunken stupor,
A short while after episodes of coquetry, albeit with folks unconcerned,
To the tunes of a soulful ballad,
She thought a strange thought. An unexpected thought.
It washed over her like a wave, catching her by pleasant surprise.
She stood there watching the musing of her own subconscious.
She thought her thought without judgment.
A thought of effortlessly dying in his arms, with satisfaction.
She imagined a return to the velvet unruffled veneer that was a mystery to all, but her.
No hard feelings, no bonds of longing either,
Just a sense of eternal and fleeting love. Of returning home to-
Understanding. Affection. Sympatico.
What more could she ask for, when she had a place of love to approach the world from?
Thinking thus, she turned over and fell asleep.