A Wander Through My Mind

Who AM I today?  I don’t have a flood of words pressing at me from the inside tonight.  I feel like I could let my mind wander off in any direction and stumble on something cool.  So that’s what I’m gonna do.  Like taking a walk with no destination… just being open to the sheer exploration of it.  I have really been feeling my life as my artistry these days.  I believe this is the truest definition of being an artist~ one who meets moment to moment to moment to moment life in the spirit of exploration, with an intention to engage beauty, sacredness, chaos, mystery…even pain with a playful, curious, creativity and zeal.  Simple moments, fully tasted, chewed, sucked and spit back out as a mosaic fountain of aliveness.  Oooh, I dig the image of a mosaic fountain!  I bet Picasso has one at his “shmansion” (shorthand for shmansy mansion) in the sky with diamonds.  Liquid, solid, multidimensional images, colors, geometries, flowing and gurgling in incessant, dreamy merriment from a sacred center.

 

I’ve really been enjoying Brad lately.  Member how I told you that sometimes I feel like I’m at the zoo living with him and getting to observe all his mannerisms up close and personal?  Well… the beat goes on.  I dunno exactly what it is about him… Maybe that he’s such a vast chasm of paradox.  On one hand, he’s about as far out as they COME.  A shaman who wanders some pretty desolate, galactic scapes.  His fluency in other planes of existence is sharp and dangerous.  And yet… he’s such a masculine ape.  He loves to fix things.  He’s often out tooling with his diesel Mercedes.  Honestly, I think he manifests minor “problems” with them, just so he can get lost in the sobering, deep engagement of solving the puzzle.  I imagine it’s a relief for one who is so esoterically inclined to have a place in his existence that is purely logical, mathematical, physical.  A couple weeks ago, he created a major issue with the lawn mower and then rolled up his burly blue sleeves and became lost in the world mechanical technicalities and integris parts for hours upon hours.

 

Tonight he ate an entire pint of hagen daas chocolate chocolate chip ice cream as he was cooking his dinner.  And the best part was that every once in a while he would breathe in my face.  I surfed cold, creamy waves of rich, chocolate heaven.  The cool, heavy scent made me instantly orgasmic.  Or was the best part the sound of the tiny, frozen chocolate chips crunching between his brutish molars like fossilized raindrops?

 

Something I LOVE about Brad is that because of his intuitive gifts, his hands have an uncanny way of knowing with horrific precision where my tickle spots are.  They don’t dick around.  It’s magnetic.  And I infallibly scream.  This is good for me.  I miss being manhandled.  I am some one who requires semi frequent biting, slapping, hair pulling and general roughhousing.  I might even be considered dangerous… with all this unexpressed wrassle in me.  But less so with an occasional kamikaze tickle warfare from my beloved shaman-monger.

 

You know who else I totally adore?  My wizard friend Jack.  His love for me is so devotional… it’s kind of astounding.  But in its purity, it raises me up.  It feels like his sacred seeing of me revives my crumpled wings.  He reminds me of my holiness.  The way he loves me makes me feel like a fallen angel who is being tenderly cradled and spoon fed holy broth so that I am ready to fly once again and go kick some etheric ASS on the front lines of this illusory holy war.  I know from the depths of my soul that he has been awaiting my arrival on Kauai… As a galactic activation check point.  I am not kidding.  I realize that my words might come across as hokey or mythologically fluffy… but I am so serious.  He massages me and I feel felt to the core.  I melt and ooze and bloom.  And he delights in the blessing of my surrendered pleasure.  He reminds me to be vigilant in tending the garden of my thoughts and dreams.  He reminds me that every day is new and fresh and ripe.  Eager to be milked.  A crystal flute full of bubbly, finely distilled awe and bliss.

 

Sneer.  Speaking of bliss, I just got a text message from a “waaaaay detached third party”.  He informed me that just for the record, my blog entry about WP DID in fact read as though HE was a bad lover.  Well… let’s just say, hypothetically, that this anonymous texter represents a portion of the populous here in Athena Graceland… just say… Allow me to clarify once and for all~ WP IS NOT A BAD LOVER.

 

Athena Grace is a “bad lover”, if anybody is.  But I am not a bad lover either.  I am just wanting something more from my sexual encounters, that I don’t exactly know how to ask for, seek, embody… it’s a radical vulnerability.  It’s a total loss of control.  It’s an opening so far beyond ego identification.  An opening to embodied bliss and sacred union.  It is wholeness and total freedom from the past.  And I am going to find it.  Inside.  I was kinda hoping that your basic, average, garden variety man would sweep me up on his bareback steed and take me there… while I was just soaking up frivolous and unnecessary beauty sleep and pigging out on warm, streaming rivers of fudge and frosting.  But as it turns out, I am the *only* one able and ordained do the work.  And then I will attract partners who joyfully meet me there.  Surprise.  I am a priestess and I have much healing and initiation ahead of me.

 

Dear God… Dear God… You are the Sun.  And I am walking into you.  All of me.  Merging with your brilliant light.  I joyously invite you burn away the illusion that I dreamed I was.  Your light is purifying me, restoring my ever perfect holiness.  I am ready to shine on this world.  My life is in service of All Pervading Beauty.  Let me be a vessel for the Miraculous.  Use me, God.  Help me be courageous and relinquish the illusions that I once believed to be truth.  Let me die so that I can truly know Life.

 

Amen.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Mykael
    Oct 26, 2010 @ 09:26:17

    Holy holy holy! Wholy profound. Amen!

    Reply

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