Monthly Archives: July 2007
It seems that my esteemed blogging friend, PradaPixie has nominated me for a blogging award! Aw shucks, what’s a girl to say?! Thanks PP!
I guess I better go and think of something inspiring to write now! See you soon!
My blog has a vagina. It’s true. Not that it could have otherwise I suppose, considering the title, but still, I thought it might be time to clarify that. It’s a proud part of what I call ‘The Goddess Club’, which consists of Grace, The Muse, OB, V, Deb, and Ruby. The Goddess Club is predominantly about celebrating womanhood, spiritual musings, authentic ramblings and a whole lot of lovin’. My blog is also about writing in general, my book, and parts of my life. (I don’t write about my work because my boss isn’t yet convinced that all this vagina talk is good for business!)
So, that said, I thought I might throw a bit of appreciation towards my few male blogging friends. (I do have some male friends who are regular readers from outside the blogosphere, gasp! but they tend to suffer from stage fright and stay quiet most of the time.) I dig the three men in my blogging life and appreciate their voice here very much. So without further ado, I give you…
(Take a bow boys.)
Bill is a remarkably gentle soul, with a big blogging community behind him and an even bigger heart. He’s kinda old and funny looking and used to be a banker, but do we hold that against him? No! We love him anyway (that sort of love you have for an old pet who farts involuntarily when walking and has one eye, but such a deep soul, you know?) Bill? Bill? You’re alright with that explanation, right? Anyhoo, for an old person, and one of the penis-clad variety, he’s extremely open, unabashedly loving and the sort of man who wants to ask for directions just to make the other person feel useful.
Mister Peace… God, where do you begin? This boy is a young’n in the scheme of things (calm down Goddesses, I can hear you all straining at your leashes) and funny, no, I mean really funny. His blog is where I get my morning dose of giggles to wake up my epiglottis (a sleepy epiglottis is not good for you, trust me, I’m a writer, I know how to google). On top of being wrinkle free and funny, he’s also sweet, cyber-huggable (down Goddesses) and humble.
Paul. I’ve only just come across Paul (he found me actually, I have no idea how, maybe he googled ‘cliterary’? Who knows?) and love his writing. I wasn’t going to mention Paul just yet because I fear a stampede as the Goddesses go and check out his sophisticated musing and muscle bound reflecting, but what the hell, he can handle it.
To the other men who wander about here – cjwriter, Dr Holocaust, Theo, Reggie, Tomachfive – thanks boys, we love ya!
She took the brush from my hand, frustrated at how long it was taking me to prove to her that I indeed couldn’t braid my hair, anyone’s hair actually, but especially not my own. She shook out the feeble plait I had begun and brushed my hair vigorously, just like my mother used to do when I was running late for school. She must’ve felt me flinch because she eased off then, slowed down and put a hand on my head as the other brushed briskly down my long hair. I felt the edge of the brush hit my waist as she finished one stroke and lifted her hand to do another. The hand on my head was warm and felt small. I liked it there. I settled back on my cushion on the floor, gently pushing my back against the knees poking into me as she sat on the couch behind me. She put the brush down and started smoothing my hair out with both hands flat against my head, running down, down, down to my waist and up again. I shut my eyes, relaxed. I might have sighed then. I might have. I felt her knees part gently and I let my body fall between them until her thighs cradled my arms. Her legs were warm and narrow.
She started to braid my hair and then stopped. For a moment I felt uncomfortable. We hadn’t been friends all that long. Maybe she was uncomfortable being this close to me? Maybe I was? But we weren’t doing anything unusual. I’d never done anything ‘unusual’ with a woman before. But I’d never felt this suddenly uncomfortable and nervous with a girlfriend before either. The moment passed and she spread her fingers out and ran them from the base of my skull up along my head, through my hair. A sigh escaped. Just a small one. Couldn’t stop it.
I turned my head to the side to look at her and share a laugh, but neither of us laughed. We only stared at each other’s lips. Her fingers, still splayed out like a fan under my hair, tightened on my scalp. I felt a rush of heat so hot that I thought I’d wet myself. I was wet. Couldn’t believe it. How long since that had happened? Barely touched, not a word spoken, and wet, wet, wet. The heat was creeping up through me like a blush. We were frozen like that. Too scared to move. The heat crept up to my neck and I swayed almost imperceptibly to one side. That was all we needed. A tiny sway of confirmation. Her hand pulled gently on my head and I reached up as she lent down.
Her lips were the softest thing I have ever felt against my own. Her tongue was hot in my mouth and, never having kissed a woman before, I marveled at how small her mouth was. Is this how a man felt kissing me? I felt powerful and vulnerable all at once. And then the heat enveloped my face and my thoughts melted away. I became desire, white hot, and as my hands sought her skin, I had no idea if she was me or I was her, I just was.
To be continued…
Some people come to my blog via some pretty interesting (to say the least!) browser searches (my sagging bottom cheeks, penises are funny and vagina jokes to name a select few)! But there are two constants that I get many times every day and they are:
1 ‘Mons pubis‘ in varying forms, and
2 ‘I see 444 all the time’, or something to that effect.
I’m going to leave ‘mons pubis’ alone this time (not that I’m suggesting that mons pubis’s (pubi?) should be left alone, but as I said, that’s entirely another story for another time). I want to ruminate for a spell about this interest in 444. Clearly there are quite a few people out there wanting to know why they’re seeing this number.
The answer, quite simply, is Angels.
4 is the number of the Angels. If you’re seeing the number 4 around you all the time you need to call on them for help and guidance, or just to feel their love and support. We all have our own Guardian Angels. They want to be called upon. Don’t feel like you’re imposing on them! You’re not!
If you’re seeing 44, it just means that your connection with the Angels is strengthening. You have many Angels around you now, so call on them! You don’t need to tell them how you want them to help you – they can do that part on their own – just ask for help (with anything) and let them get to work. Then just stay open for new opportunities and answers that can come in many different guises.
If you’re seeing 444, you have a very strong connection with the Angelic realm. This is wonderful! Use this connection to grow and learn and become more loving. It is truly happening, you don’t need to question it! The fact that so many people around the world are connecting on a very real level with Angels is no coincidence. We have entered the Age of Aquarius and the energies on the planet have shifted. We are opening up to new levels and we need to embrace the new energy without fear or embarrassment.
My writing here is such a mix of light hearted humour and more serious reflections about women, sex, fiction and spirituality and yet I’ve been reluctant to write about some of my beliefs and experiences to do with my spirituality. But the amount of browser searches regarding 444 is rather hard to ignore, as are my Angels, who’ve been giving me signs for days and days to write about this (including me parking my car this morning in-between two cars with 444 on their number plates, with the car opposite displaying 44 and every time I looked at the time on my laptop at my client’s office this morning, it was 44 past the hour!). So, I avoid it no longer!
You happy now Angels?!
The Law of Attraction has attracted a lot of attention lately. But there’s nothing new or in the least bit secret about it. This principle dates a long way back to great teachers such as Hermes, whose teachings are written in The Kybalion, and Abraham, father of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, whose teachings include this law. I think that with all the recent hype though, it might be a good time to remember that without gratitude, forgiveness, love and compassion, the Universe might struggle somewhat to bring us that shiny new bike, new iPhone, or that priceless Renoir painting we’re putting in our energetic orders for.
Let’s look at gratitude for a sec. Gratitude – along with forgiveness – is a very powerful and healing emotion (high frequency, for all you LoA junkies). The thing about gratitude is that on a spiritual level it’s almost like a rite of passage or a level that you need to reach in order to continue on your spirtitual journey. Seeing I work in health & wellness, let’s look at it in terms of weight loss and body image issues. In order to attract health, healing and positive body changes, one must first be grateful for the body we currently have. After all, this is the body that has carried us thus far through life’s trials and tribulations, joys and successes. This is the body that created a life (or two or three or four!) and has the scars to prove it; the feet that walked us forward through fear when our heart was pounding; the legs that ran when we didn’t think they could; the hips that carried a child or curved like the goddess; the breasts that supported life or gave solace and comfort to another’s fear or fatigue; the lips that have loved and caressed and spoken our truths and our fears and our deepest desires, lined with experience or full with youth, they are the part of us that share our sighs with the world; the eyes that say so much about us, so much that we forget or are too afraid to stare into them every day, so instead we just bemoan the crows feet that surround them. We need to first be grateful for this body before we can usher in a changed one. And we need to be forgiving towards ourselves and others so that we can be truly compassionate souls. We have learnt to be so unforgiving on ourselves. The demands and expectations we place on our bodies are extreme and rarely do we forgive or give ourselves an inch when it comes to them.
Moving a step beyond this, gratitude and forgiveness can be the two things that free us from fear and doubt so that we truly can manifest with pure joy and faith. Expressing gratitude for the people who teased you for being fat, or gratitude for the person who sexually abused you means that you are grateful that you had that experience as you can see that it has enabled you to be who you are and understand the things that you do. This expression of gratitude allows forgiveness to flow in. This is true healing on a soul level and creates spiritual growth at a great rate of knots.
The following genuine and unedited short dialogue occurred between CJ and I last night. I was in the ensuite brushing my teeth and he had just gotten into bed after having a shower.
S What happened to the bathroom floor?
CJ It’s collateral damage, it got hit by friendly fire. Don’t worry honey, it’s expendable.
I walked the few steps out of the ensuite, through the walk-in closet, toothbrush still whirring in my mouth, to look at him, partly because I still couldn’t quite believe just how he’d managed to flood the bathroom floor after one short shower, and partly because what he’d said in such a straight manner was so funny. I looked at him and almost decorated the curtains with foaming gobs of blue Macleans. He was lying flat in bed, the covers pulled up to his chin. Clamped between his teeth was a steel ruler and scattered over his chest were loose papers covered in hand-drawn diagrams and measurements. His brow was knitted in concentration as he looked at them, the bathroom floor already a distant memory. Despite the still buzzing electric toothbrush in my mouth, I went to say something. I smiled a toothpastey smile at his furrowed brow and changed my mind. I’m learning not to question some of the eccentricities of my geeky genius fiancée. What can you say to a man who’s tucked up in bed with diagrams of your wedding invitations that he’s designed resting on his chest, deep in concentration? It’s adorable. Besides, he’s right, what’s a bathroom floor in the whole scheme of things?
I just love those odd conversations men and women have about things when the difference in the wiring of the brain becomes so wonderfully obvious.
This morning I was working on a chapter of the book that I’ve been finding particularly difficult and time consuming. I was finally making some headway and stopped to make lunch and suddenly found myself sitting on the couch crying. But why?
I’ve been writing about how women with breast cancer typically don’t show anger, have little choice but to comply with painful, barbaric treatments and diagnostic methods, are surrounded by enough pink ribbons, pink scarves, pink pins and teddy bears to make an eight year old sick, and seem to be in a culture where they must make every effort to remain positive to the point where they apologise when they stray from that. I guess I realised that lately I’ve been struggling with the thought of what I’m trying to do with the book and how very sensitive and contentious so much of what I’m writing about really is. I mean, I’m writing about body image, being fat, feminism and spirituality all in the one book. And I seem to have taken on a huge amount of pressure (from myself) about getting it right, not repeating anyone else, and not offending people. The fact is though, I can’t possibly read everything that’s out there and I currently feel incredibly swamped trying to do that. And I can’t possibly please everyone and get it right for everyone either. These are the exact same things I was trying to articulate in the chapter I was working on. I don’t feel at all supported by my family (except CJ and Mum) in what I’m trying to do. And that’s not their fault (or problem) because I’m still holding back on how passionate I truly am about spirituality and feminism. If I don’t talk about it, how can they know? And if I did, what could they offer me?
This is pandemic, this holding back on how we truly feel. Why am I more afraid to speak it than write it down?
I think today I just feel overwhelmed by how much there is to do, how many women in the world are suffering, and how little I am doing to help. It reduces me to tears. For that reason, and many more, I know that it is one of my Divine purposes – to do what I can to help – but today oh how truly inadequate and ill-equipped I feel for such a job. And it’s days like today that I don’t want it. I’m struggling with the enormity of how much need there is and yet so much opposition. Just writing a book is task enough, but feeling the amount of responsibility that I do for what I’m trying to do with it feels too hard today. Time to walk away from the laptop, time to rest, time to shed tears for those who could only wish for these sorts of troubles. I will indulge in my crying, as much as I the privileged ‘should’ feel happy and positive, today, I cry.