Originally posted March 26, 2014
I’ve never believed in “The One.”
Even as a Disney-obsessed kid, collecting every VHS cartoon I could find, I still didn’t believe in “The One.”
Even today, as I sit in my San Francisco apartment married to a man I convinced is my soul mate, I still don’t believe in “The One.”
I’m not a total cynic nor do I think that love always leads to heartbreak and that relationship is ultimately the death of sex and personal freedom and your own vitality.
I think that the notion of “The One” gets wrapped up in the erroneous belief that as soon as we find someone who loves us, all of our problems get solved and all our needs will always be met and we will never go hungry again.
Dude, if you put that much pressure on anyone, you are destined for disappointment and resentment.
Sometimes, “The One” isn’t just about a romantic relationship. How many times have we said, “If only I had that job/money/workshop/enlightenment/award/fill-in-the-blank-craving, then I would be happy.”
Stop looking for “The One” outside of yourself and recognize that YOU are the one you’ve been waiting for.
When you become the heroine of your own story, you become 100% responsible for your own “happily ever after.” You stop chasing this nebulous thing outside of yourself and being a victim of circumstance.
You also invite freedom, play and growth into your life. We often use “The One” to satisfy some personal insecurity that we aren’t worthy of love unless we have something outside of ourselves to reflect our lovability.
We also search for “The One” because we fear change and view it as a threat to our survival. We hope that “The One” will provide the stability we so desperately crave. Sorry kids, but that’s just not how life works. And thank goodness for that, for it is that static way of living which is the true culprit in the death of sex and personal freedom and your own vitality.
When you realize that “Happily Ever After” can often look like “What the fuck am I doing? Help me! I don’t know. Fuck it,” then you are more willing to accept every moment as an opportunity to enjoy the ride rather than check out of life on the hungry-ghost hunt.
So here’s a poem from my upcoming book dedicated to all the princesses who are slaying their own dragons, saving themselves and choosing to grow up into Warrior-Queens. When you live life as your own “One,” whole and complete, you walk into relationships not looking for Prince Charming, but for a mature man or woman ready to share an adventure yet-to-be written.
From your perspective
It must seem as easy as
Drawing the sword from the stone
Or soaring on a magic carpet
Or spinning straw into gold
But I know myself
Princesses only stay pure
Through obstinate abstinence
So you’ll find me in the gutter
Cigarette in one hand
Ice cream in the other
And marvel at how easily angels fall
But if you’re brave enough to climb my tower
(And make friends with the sleeping dragon)
Then don’t try to explain me
(Your tongue has better uses)
Strip off your armor
(Women aren’t won with steel)
And succumb to the tumbling embers
From the beast (no longer tame)
As you rouse beauty from her slumber
With a kiss of fairy flame
(As Rilke says)
Perhaps all the dragons of our lives
Who are only waiting to see us
Beautiful and Brave
Originally posted February 21, 2014
I finished the Queen's story last night. What a wild roller coaster that was. I felt like she pulled me up by my lapel and told me to "Grow Up" *several times* during the creation of her story. The fact that my husband and I still love each other, want to be married to each other and enjoy sex together is a testament to our love and the positive learning and growth I experienced during her creation.
The final story I have left to write is the Nun's, which for me is very personal. She is a woman who devotes her erotic energy in service to the divine. God is her lover. This can show up many ways, not just in the celibate renunciates we see in various religious institutions. She the part of ourselves that easily connects with Spirit and uses that orgasm for her creative expression.
Her shadow shows up when she denigrates all physical life and chooses only to chase the spiritual realms. We can see this in severe religious and cultural leaders who warn us to beware the "pleasures of the flesh." We can also see this in anorexics and certain "hippie" people who would rather "breathe in nourishment" than go sit down and have a filling meal. People who hate or cannot hold or handle money, i.e. physical expressions of energy, also fall into the shadow side of this archetype.
In my story, I will share an experience I had that connected me to my spirit and my sex after several years of severe anorexia. The framework will be fictional, but the experience will be my own.
Time for the deep dive once more...at least this time my husband has had some warning.
Originally posted February 5, 2014
It's been a while since I've posted on this blog, mainly because the past few months I have been devoting my time to writing my book, From 6 to 9 and Beyond: Widening the Lens of Feminine Eroticism, and focusing less on articles. If you click on the link the title, you will also find an "Updates" page where I have blogging about the writing process. So be sure to head over there and check out all the good stuff I've been up to :)
However, I didn't want to neglect this page, so I am posting the first page from my story about "The Queen" archetype. You can find more on the book's website. Enjoy!
Rani Jhadav placed the edge of the chilled glass against her warm lips, tipped back her head and slightly parted her mouth. Bright bubbles tickled the back of her throat, while the dry, cherry flavor of the 2005 Cristal Rosé Brut washed over her tongue. She closed her eyes. After the champagne had sufficiently slaked her thirst, she set the flute back down on the cream and gold-colored cocktail napkin. She glanced down at her Richard Mille 007 Rose Gold Watch, given to her exactly one year ago for her 38th birthday.
“Twelve twenty-eight,” she noted to herself, the hands pointing towards two small diamonds representing the clock face’s twelve and the six.
She remembered the e-mail verbatim:
Sit at the bar
Wear a skirt
Xo, Ms. V
Rani recrossed her legs, the smooth cushion of the suede barstool brushing against her bare, mocha thighs. She hooked the left heel of her Louboutin black-and-crystal pump on the bottom rung of her seat.
Admiring the artist’s penmanship, she softly fingered the paper “Reserved” sign that sat three inches behind her glass. The R snaked under the word “reserved” in thick calligraphy. A similar, yet scripturally unique, sign sat nine inches to her left, saving the empty space next to her.
“Good thing Ms. V had the foresight to reserve us a spot,” thought Rani, as she glanced around the packed restaurant. Ever since the Gramercy Park bistro opened a little over a year and a half ago, it had been the hot spot for New York City’s wealthy and elite. It was a particular favorite of Rani’s since she could count on it to “wow” her potential investors and business contacts. And it was only two blocks from her Flatiron office.
Plus, she simply adored the care and attention put into every detail of the place—the décor, the cuisine, the wines, the gold-plated napkin rings and handwritten menus—all of it represented simple, yet elegant tastes, while simultaneously fostering an air of familiarity. Even now as she sat in plain sight, sliding her long fingers up and down the stem of her flute, Rani couldn’t help but step inside the intimacy of her experience. Nothing existed but supple flesh on firm glass.
No sooner had she drifted off than she was startled back to the present by the appearance of a stranger in the seat beside her. She quickly looked at her watch.
“Twelve-thirty? That was a minute?!” she thought, surprised at how quickly she had lost her sense of temporal perception.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said, “this seat’s reserved.”
“I know,” he silkily replied, an impish smile curling around his mouth.