Sexuality Is in the Head

“You cannot divide creative juices from human juices. And as long as juicy women are equated with bad women, we will err on the side of being bad.” ~ Erica Jong

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None can know
me, what drives me wild
in the mind,
what speaks to the swells
of my hips and breasts…
the way I do.

Hands I allow
on me are a gift,
a pleasure partnership.

Hands and fingers and thought
tracing skin, feeling muscle and bone
ruled by said skin’s own brain
need no partner for joy—
gifts are good, entitlements are better.

Sexiness begins in your head—
touch your mind deeply,
love your body often.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” sexuality
is in my head (and in yours
if you want).
To celebrate it,
take your body and soul
and make yourself yours.

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the (not so) wee notes…
– Since Beltane—a witchy holiday that brings sexuality to my mind—was in, um… my mind, I asked the members of a private Crohn’s disease forum I belong to about their sex life. Many answered that their sex life was just fine, thank you very much, and can we talk about our ileums and rectums now? Others said that the illness has affected their sex life, but they have adjusted accordingly. The most prevalent answer was a variation of, “I’m single”. So, I added, “What about sex with yourself?” Some people (all right, a whole lot of people) left the session without typing another word.

Those of us who stayed on the forum spent some time discussing sexuality, morality, and the relationship between body and mind when it comes to physical pleasure. It was an enlightening conversation. I was puzzled by the number of mature adults who confessed to have never masturbated—not because of religious taboo, but because they are married or because the idea of touching their own bodies makes them feel dirty. I left the forum hoping for minds freed of nonsense that pushes people to believe that physical self-love is filthy behavior or something to be ashamed of.

Keeping that (and other juicy wonders) in mind, this Beltane, or May Day, or on this 1st Monday of the 5th month of the calendar year, I wish you lots and lots and lots of physical love (if you want it), especially from you to you. Be human, enjoy your Self.

– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

The blackout that fed the poem…

…and a flower that seems to be rather proud of her sexuality
(yep, the Thunbergia mysorensis is most definitely a girl)

Spring Equinox in New York

Spring comes to New York City in thigh-high snow boots, pockets full of pomegranate seeds and the sprouting hopes of Winter’s dead. Some shoot frigid thoughts her way, but Crocuses and Dogwoods stretch their roots under icy soil, and bloom. The wild Witch dances barefoot in snow, heating this mad world from the inside out. Frozen tears melt into dirt, and Spring shrouds Winter with songs of buzzing bees and butterfly kisses… to come.

frosty March
chilling flesh and bone,
but souls spring

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the wee notes…
– Remnants from our last snowstorm are dirty piles on the ground. So, I’m not celebrating this Spring Equinox in my traditional witchy way—walking in the woods as the sun rises, searching for spring sprouting through dead leaves, listening to birds sing of mating and fighting and of whose plumage is most impressive. On this first day of spring, I shall be Aries wild, and celebrate her coming by playing with my books, thinking of seeds, singing offkey, dancing… right after my limbs stop feeling stiff enough to snap (say that 13 times fast).
– Pomegranate Seeds ~ in Greek Mythology, spring doesn’t start until Persephone returns from the Underworld. Soon after her return, it is discovered that her stay won’t be permanent—she ate pomegranate seeds while she was there.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.

Wishing you a delicious Spring Equinox, my Wicked Luvs.

The Return of the Fire

Donna’s bell-shaped sleeves looked dangerously flammable.

I should’ve warned her. But I suspected she was too angry with me to listen to criticism or care about fire safety. She had asked me to wear a ceremonial robe to her Imbolc celebration, and I showed up in a red sundress and old combat boots.

“Ten bucks the fire department shows up tonight.”

“That’s terrible,” I said to the green-eyed stranger standing next to me, and wondered if he had read my thoughts. “I’m sure we can put her out before she flames on.”

We laughed, our hands over our mouths to disguise the mirth.

“Fire!” someone screamed.

I leapt to my friend’s aid, but stopped before I got to her. The High Priestess had snuffed out the flames. And thank goodness for that, since I was still laughing.

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the wee notes…
– This is an oldie but goodie, a bit of truth (barely) dressed up as fiction… since the friend in question still glares when anyone brings up the flaming sleeves incident. And yes, I bring it up every chance I get. It’s just such a yummy way to celebrate The Return of the Light *cackles*.
– First published here. There was a bit of nipping and tweaking, but nothing significant.

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