You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘fuck silence’ tag.

I started this blog because I wanted to talk about sex. I had no idea I’d soon be single and that sex would be the farthest thing from my mind. Or, that I’d be getting so naked with myself, literally and figuratively, than I’ve ever been in a sexual relationship. And at the risk of sounding like a yogic hippie, which I suppose I am, the getting naked has been possible because of meditation, safe spaces, a funky new brand of yoga and a life changing book.

This is the incidental story of how my intuition led me to uncover an infection that’s been going on for months, without my really being aware of it.

On Sunday, I decided to take therapy into my own hands, and in 9 emphatic pages, I unleashed my fury and pain toward my Ex.

Then, I burned it.

Along with pictures, cards, ‘love’ coupons, and a shirt that just would not die.

Then, I needed a mood brightener, so I danced the dance of the gods and followed up with some yoga nidra and crazy intense breathing. It had been a long time since I’d experienced the buzz of serious meditation, and damn, it was nice.

Because my massage therapist swears by the cleansing power of apple cider vinegar baths, I indulged for probably the 3rd time this week. My whole plan was to let out the emotions over my once-lover, then wash it all away and be done with it. Once the thrill of the warm water wore off and my mind started to wander, I decided to use a meditation from Wild Feminine.

And this is when the pain became tangible.

I think you’d need to read Wild Feminine to understand what I mean, but I used a pelvic bowl clearing exercise, and I uncovered a lot of tension in the front quadrant of my root. As in, I felt overwhelmed with crazy sad emotion, and I wanted to cry and be hugged and yet I just needed myself, all at once. And I wanted my book so badly to read over certain parts and understand more about this area of pain, and yet all I could really do was breathe. And just feel the tension, and breathe, and breathe, and ride it out. To let go of the emotion and find calm again, even though when I’m in that moment, it’s hard not to wonder if I’ll ever see calm again.

I had this urge to dunk my head under the water, and I know I have sensitive ears, but I decided I was going listen to my intuition. So I dunked, twice, and nothing alarming happened. Then for good measure, I showered off after my bath, to make sure all the bullshit went down the drain.

And, let’s be honest: so I wouldn’t smell like apple cider vinegar.

The rest of the night, I felt like I had water in my ears. Watching TV was painful because everything sounded so fucking loud. So I kept laying on my right side, thinking I needed to let the water drain out.

It didn’t get better.

I slept on my right side, woke up, and again, no change.

Actually, it was worse.

I remembered using alcohol to get water out of my ears from swimming when I was younger, so I grabbed some en route to work.

Then, the lovely google people confessed that alcohol: not the best idea for your ears. And I started to realize that the water wasn’t sloshing around, like a normal swimmer sort of feeling . . . it felt much deeper. As in, the shit’s not going to come out.

EXCELLENT.

It’s at this point that I started to question my intuition.

Dammit, I KNOW I have sensitive ears, yet there I go, just obeying the little voice. Well, fuck that, I’ll just shower next time. No dunking for me. Etc.

By the time I saw my doctor, I found out that I have a hardcore ear infection that has nothing to do with bath water.

And so, my intuition saved me, because the dunking shook up the fluid in my ears so I’d notice that I’ve got quite the problem going on here.

Cheesy {but true} yogic moral: It’s amazing what’s revealed when you allow yourself a safe space to listen.

And yeah, it could all be coincidence, etc., but I think that’s the thing about your intuition. You have to trust in that little voice, and you may not have real proof, ever, but I’ve found that more often than not, trusting the voice pays off.

Especially when it makes no sense at all.

Advertisements

I had a chat on Monday night that changed the way I see everything. It was one of those moments where my heart beat wayyy too quickly, I knew too much, and I felt disgusted because I thought I’d left these goddamn moments of panic behind.

I took a few more sips.

I finished the bottle.

I filled a tub.

I let myself thrash in the throes of fury, violent intentions, and painful hurt.

I took my time.

Finally, I laughed.

The more I listened to this song, the harder I laughed.

And somehow, with the burning of pictures and crazy wild yoga and sweaty hot walks, I’m actually feeling lighter than I had been, before I knew what had really been going on.

So while I’d like to say fuck you, I’d add a thank you as well.

Turns out, I’m one lucky bitch.

Crazy how that happens.

I’m in the habit of lying.

Not in a “I was at my friend’s house watching a movie” when truly at the bar sort of lying.

Not, “No, officer, no crack or crack pipes in this car. No, sir.”

More along the lines of: No, I’m fine; Yes, that works for me; Sure! That wasn’t what we talked about, but it’ll be just fine … Those sort of lies. The kind of lie where I shoot out an answer to keep the other person appeased before I even consult with myself. Or even realize that the other person doesn’t need appeasing.

As soon as I say Yes! I’d LOVE to! I feel it in my bones that that isn’t really true. Because I didn’t really even consider my options before agreeing.

These lies apply to a lot of valuable areas in my life. Dinner, What To Do This Weekend, How I Feel in a Disagreement, if I’d really prefer the heater on….and a biggie: Sex.

It’s crazy, but for a while (which means most of my sexual career) I knew I was missing some of the dreamy adjectives you hear related to sex…. but I didn’t have a clue what to do differently, so I didn’t say a damn thing. Nor did I realize how deeply being quiet affected my body, my soul, my life.

Thankfully, little lightbulbs of possibility started showing up:

The Five Hour, Enlightening Conversation at the end of 2009.

The Return of Desire by Gina Ogden.

The ridiculously intense journaling, which included ranting, blaming, complaining, lamenting, designing What I Might Be Missing and finally, ownership & responsibility.

Finding Sheri Winston’s 3 breath orgasm video.

Ordering Sheri Winston’s book.

And this snowball of clarity culminated in:

The Bodily Epiphany.

A night of such intense arousal that not only did I understand FUCK YES, I’VE BEEN MISSING A LOT, but I also understood that every orgasm I’ve ever had was forced.

And forcing sucks out the juicy.

Which, sucks.

And explains why I felt kinda sad and let down sometimes after sex.

Here’s the clincher: I told my lover that that was the best night of my life. So on some level, he gets that whatever he did, he did well.

However.

I didn’t exactly explain that I don’t ever want to force sex again. Or that my amazing night changed my mind about sex completely. As in, fuck having sex when I’m mildly interested. I want juicy, wild and uncontrollable desire.

And: I am willing to admit that I am a sexual beginner.

Even though I’ve been having sex for a long time, have all manner of sex toys, and am my circle of girlfriends’ go-to girl for sex talk.

I just want to be brave enough to admit all this to my lover.

And that’s where the truth comes in, because it’s scary for me to admit when something is less than perfect. I know why this is. But what’s more important is letting perfection go.

Just as important is owning what I know now, and taking the time to re-learn sex. Because I like to read about it, write about it, talk about it. The actual exploring part is where I feel hesitant – and I suppose rightly so. I realize I’m not sure where to start, and that’s difficult to admit to myself. Because in the past, it’s been a dry experience with a goal. And even now, I know it can all be different, and yet I still have a bit of a goal: I want to feel that incredibly alive again. All by myself, for the sheer pleasure of feeling that way and knowing it’s part of me. An accessible part of me.

It’s just that the goal part makes it feel like work. Or a pass/fail test.

Which isn’t incentive to play, let me tell ya.

So that’s where I am: telling the truth and starting over. And one way I’m telling the truth today: not wearin’ a bra. Yep, I’m at work. And yep, it’s probably obvious, because the girls are less padded than usual.

But I feel a lot more like me.

“What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? …

The world would split open.” – Muriel Rukeyser

And, deep breath, here goes:

I run from our relationship because sometimes it feels easier to start over as the Me I Know Now, rather than clue you in to Who You Knew.

The more I learn about my patterns, the more overwhelmed I feel.

Most of the time, I’d rather be alone.

In fact, I crave taking a year, maybe more, of complete solitude to make sense of life. To feel restored as Me.

I don’t think I’d be lonely.

It bothers me that you’re so picky about vegetables.

While I do feel I am responsible for my orgasms, it would be nice to let you do everything more often. You know, like I do for you.

I am tired.

Even though I cut her out of my life, and feel I should be over it, I still wonder if she will ever ask where and how I’ve been.

Sometimes, life feels so easy.

Today? Unrelentless.

I wish I had the balls to never wear a bra, unless I wanted to wear one that’s sexy.

I could live in boxer shorts, tank tops and flops.

Why do we all try so hard to be the same, when it’s clearly not working?

I want to make more money.

I want to slide my body into a vat of red paint and press against a white canvas.

I’d like to make love to a woman.

My very soul craves bellydancing.

And dancing under a full moon.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m simply more kinky than those around me, or just further along on the discovery scale. Or perhaps their vanilla is my kink. Or they’re just doing something damn impressive with vanilla.

Every once in a while, I am quite sure that I would leave it all to go to massage school.

I want to ask her What She’s Thinking – why can’t she admit he sucks?

And then I remember: I can’t admit a lot, too.

I think it really comes down to power: The World doesn’t want women to have any. And then they wonder why women are powerless to leave shitty significant other’s.

It starts with the mother.

If a woman cannot set boundaries in her life, she is teaching her daughter the very same thing.

Emotional Intelligence would have been much more valuable to learn in college instead of Biology, or Algebra. Or pretty much anything else offered.

So, perhaps Barnes & Noble is as worthy a place of education as any college.

What would happen if pleasure for pleasure’s sake was admirable?

No guilt, no shame, no regret?

Ok, how about a week? A week of only choosing foods that light up your belly, a week of funny movies, happy conversations, bubble baths, candles and wine, gratuitous nudity and laughter….Could we do it? Could I?

That’s the next step in my life: Choosing pleasure, for the sake of pleasure. Relaxing into feeling good. Owning those feelings.

Believing that if it hurts, I’ll navigate to something that feels better.

Because I am allowed to feel good.

I am allowed to have needs, feelings, and the safety to express them.

I am allowed to value myself as much as I value Everyone Else.