Courage is choosing the unknown.
Bravery is sitting in the vulnerability of not knowing what will happen there.
And Integrity is doing the work despite the fact that it won’t get you accolades.
The Feminine feels pain when he is not present.
The Masculine feels pointlessness when she is not loving.
It is the quality of his consciousness that allows the feminine to blossom, to open, to feel the fullness of herself as love.
She craves his consciousness, and she aches when she doesn’t receive it.
Sure, on her own she can find nourishment in the beauty of nature, or she can resource herself with the presence of her own self-care…
Yet for those feminine beings who love men, there is something she gets from him that she cannot get anywhere else.
The depth of his presence.
A powerful masculine presence from someone she wants will evoke involuntary ripples of energy and arousal through her body.
It will have her innately open with the yearning to receive him into her.
His consciousness brings her to fullness… the essential feminine experience.
And when it goes away, it hurts.
When he drifts off to check out another woman, the stab of agony is overwhelming.
When his attention is focused on the mundane and the trivial, tension fills her body.
When he chooses low consciousness activities, giving his precious attention to empty television, porn or alcohol… the disappointment is crushing.
Because she wants that attention.
If she could, she would have all of it…
ALL the time.
Of course we are human, and no man is superman
(sadly many polarity teachings have set us up to fail here)
So she can, and will, tolerate some degree of wavering presence.
The degree to which she is capable of holding the purity of love, actually.
Yet it still hurts.
But…
As polarity flows, there is the less talked about yearning of the masculine.
Just as she needs his presence,
He needs her love.
It is the love of the feminine that brings meaning to a man’s life.
Oh he may find purpose in the world in many ways.
Yet without the warmth of her, there is no point.
Because it’s all for her.
He builds cities for her
He makes money for her
He drives luxury cars for her
Behind every man’s ambition is the secret, or not so secret, desire for it to be given colour by the feminine.
She makes a house into a home.
She makes life into something worth living.
The love of a good woman makes a great man.
She holds the nectar that sweetens his existence.
And when that love disappears, when it dries up… none of it means anything anymore
This is why we see such high rates of suicide in men.
You can guarantee that in every instance it’s because he could not gain the love of a woman, or he lost the love of a woman, or he feared he was going to lose the love of a woman.
Maybe he got fired, and fearing that he could no longer provide for her… that she would no longer love him.
Without her love, life is empty.
Pointless.
The unconscious woman, just like the unconscious man with his lack of presence, takes this love away all the time.
Every criticism…
Every belittling…
Every time she points out what he’s doing wrong…
He is hearing “I don’t love you”
It’s why he defends so intensely.
It’s why he struggles to hear her complaints.
She might believe she is helping him grow.
But if she uses the withdrawal of love to make her point…
She is hurting him.
Just as much as he hurts her when he removes his attention from her.
Presence and Love.
The gifts we bring to each other as the masculine and the feminine.
Sacred gifts…
When they are cultivated and offered generously,
Intimacy thrives.
When they are disregarded, weaponised or withdrawn,
Intimacy dies.
This is the practice of Evolving in Relationship
To give our sacred gifts
So that together
We may thrive.
~ Damien Bohler~
Hope is contagious. I never realised this until last night.
She wanted to go to see the fireworks for NYE… in the city… with thousands of people.
These days I couldn’t think of anything worse. But I had to remember that when I was 19, it’s something I would’ve been excited about too. So I agreed. After all, it’s my job really.
That afternoon I began the tedious task of working out the logistics of how to make it doable, with as little stress and anxiety triggers as possible. Thankfully though, when we met up, she had a plan… and it was a great plan. The place we found ourselves was on the outskirts of the city, with perfect views, surrounded by a chilled bunch of people relaxing on the grass with picnic blankets and nibblies. Definitely more my pace… and hers too it seems. Doing this job has definitely made me begin to believe that nothing is coincidental. It never ceases to amaze me how well my clients and I match.
We celebrated the coming in of the New Year, and then headed home. It was in the drive home, listening to her excitement about the coming year, placing so much emphasis on this changeover, that I came to realise I had lost that sense of hope. And recognised also, how sweet it is. Maybe it was that, combined with being taken back to the days where I would stare with a child’s eyes at the wondrous display of awe-invoking, colourful bursts into the night sky… but a small, long-forgotten part of myself become reignited, and I couldn’t help but get caught up in the energy of possibility. I smile as I write this. It feels good. It feels innocent. It feels honouring to allow myself that somewhat childish hope that this year… this year might be different. Different from what, I don’t know. But it feels kind of nice to just let go and play along. To put the “adult” on the backburner for a moment.
So, here’s to a New Year. I hope you can reconnect to that part of you that believes in magic and wonderment ?
Maybe some of us are meant to wander
To taste the sunlight and walk with bare feet and passionate hearts
Maybe some of us are meant to see life differently
To see light
Fractals of time
Moments of clarity
Maybe some of us are meant to be outcasts
Loners
The black sheep
Or even perpetually misunderstood
Maybe there’s some of us who love fast and forgive quickly
Who always have open arms
Waiting with an embrace
A hand on your heart
A kiss
And eyes that say
I see you
Maybe there’s some of us who crave the moonlight
Who cry over mountains
And pray with the sunrise
Maybe there’s some of us who live for the top down kind of moments
The bathing suit and cutoffs
Crazy hair
And bronzed shoulder days
Maybe there’s some of us who love soul deep
Who feel your energy
Who exhale in your arms
And never need much but you
Maybe there’s some of us who still make dandelion crowns
Who stop to talk to strangers
And sit with the homeless
Maybe there’s some of us who believe in the good
Triumphing over hate
In integrity
Honesty
And in people actually becoming their best selves
Maybe there’s some of us that get lost on purpose
That seek out the path less traveled
That make up their own rules
Or live by none at all
Maybe there’s some of us
Who’d rather take chances
Than only wish we did
Who trust ourselves
Our hearts
And follow them like our own North Star
Maybe some of us do exist
Maybe it’s not such a dream after all.
~ Kate Rose ~
He challenges the gentle parts of me. The soft parts. And it’s confronting.
‘I want to take you shopping,’ he says. ‘You can buy anything you want.’ ‘I want to give you a gift, no strings attached, nothing expected in return.’ ‘I just want to give this gift to you.’
There’s that moment when I know something has touched deep. The pause. When everything stops for a minute second, and leaves a wake of confusion. What?
I’m cautious. Wary. Unable to determine if the next step is where I fall through what I thought was solid ground.
‘When was the last time someone gave you something just because they wanted to?’
My mind scrambles, looking for an answer.
The bravado I’d been clinging to crumbles, and a tear comes, uninvited. Quietly followed by others.
I don’t know.
That’s a wound I’m not prepared for. A deep wound, winding its way all the way back to childhood. Disappointment. Constantly let down by false promises. Hidden strings attached. The secret pact I made as a child, hidden from everyone, myself included until this moment, to not need or want anything from anyone. The struggle with being able to receive, this pact left me with.
The struggle to receive. I sit with how that one little thing has tendrils spread throughout all areas of my life. It’s safer to be the giver.
As we speak about it, I realise there’s a trust there. I trust what he’s saying. I believe him. His actions have already shown me this is his truth. He is kind and thoughtful and mindful and aware. He listens as I share my discomfort and fears and pain. And then gently reminds me of who I am. He gently reminds me of who he is. And I feel safe. Safe to accept his gift. Safe to pick anything I want… not what I would think he’d want me to pick… not something practical or cheap or easy or dismissive (basically, I won’t bestow my own rules beyond his).
I will simply pick something I want. Without guilt. And I will receive his gift. Because the gift he is giving me goes far beyond a material item. He is teaching me the art of receiving. And the art of allowing another the opportunity to give.
Something I realised we have already been exploring together.
I look deep into his eyes, a mischievous smile forming, lean forward and whisper, ‘I love sitting here in such an ordinary setting having dinner with you, knowing I’ve just sucked my ass juices from your cock.’
He laughs that beautiful laugh, and reaches across the table and grabs my hands. We giggle at our secret, like delinquents. The intensity of the session we’ve just had, enveloping us. I know I’m glowing… can feel it radiating out of every pore. And I don’t care. I bask in it. I can feel the stares, the wonder. My goddess is alight and I am feeling free and satisfied, so I revel in the curiosity.
His mere presence makes everything disappear, yet at the same time, heightened. He makes me feel seen and somehow safe to be. I want to be covered in him, and I am. Spit, cum, sweat, lube, juices… all of it… laying beneath my casual summer dress, as we sit eating pasta and pizza, and sipping wine, whilst listening to the musician singing 80’s cover songs.
Conversation flows between spiritual beliefs, to every day thoughts, to concepts around kink, to the food. All so natural. So ordinary. Sometimes awkward. But we long ago gave eachother permission for it all. Authenticity.
He pauses for a moment to ask if I mind if he texts his wife to check in. His thoughtfulness for everyone is so admirable. I smile and nod my ok and look away to watch the singer, to give them some privacy. It’s so easy to share someone who is so easy to share. And so easy to share with someone who is so easy to share with. I am grateful to them both for the work they have done to reach this place.
Sometimes you just find that person who resonates. Somehow you’re both so very different and yet so very the same. And for some reason, we have this. We have our fears, yet are both driven to make everything beautiful… even our ugly parts. Which somehow, the simple recognition, or perhaps, acceptance, allows some kind of magic to unfold.
I want him. I crave him. I’ve never had my body switch on so quickly by a person. Something has awakened, and she is ravenous.
As we lay on my sofa, digesting, relaxing, languidly throwing words into the ether, he suggests it’s time to shower. The thought of him naked stirs my pussy. I want to feel him deep inside me again. As he undresses I watch. Observe. A new feeling emerges… the huntress watching prey. The urge to grab his cock, or say something is overwhelming, but instead I just quietly watch. So methodical in everything he does. I smile.
I remove my underwear and leave the room, walk into my bedroom and remove my dress without a word. He walks around the corner and sees me. ‘You’re naked,’ he says. ‘I am,’ I purr. The seductress has come out to play.
His body wraps around mine as he whispers into my ear. ‘You want me to fuck you again bub.’ It’s not a question. I nod. ‘Yes please’ I reply. ‘I want you to fuck me from behind and cum all over my back.’
He bends me over and glides in. ‘Mmm you’re so open,’ I hear him say. I feel it too. I am. My body opens to him like a flower. Craving his cock deep inside.
We move to the couch where only moments before we had been snuggling, and he pounds into me. Letting go. Going to that place we have discovered. ‘You want me to cum on you?’ He growls. ‘Yes please,’ I reply. ‘I want you to cum all over me.’
With that he lets go and I feel his warm spurts up my back. He rubs his hand around, spreading his cum like lotion on my skin. I revel in it.
As he goes to shower I put on my silk robe, feeling it cling to the stickiness. Something deep inside settles. Content.
It starts as a whisper. Maybe a word you say. A look. A touch.
Although it’s still so new, you are my first resounding Yes.
Not just as a word.
Placating.
Seeking acceptance.
Seeking approval.
Seeking validation.
This Yes… Your Yes… is real. It is honest.
It comes from a place deep within my body that melts into your safety. Safety you have worked so diligently to create. Delicately unthreading the parts wound so tightly.
Your Yes sets me alight. Makes me squirm. Makes me smile that smile only lovers understand.
Your Yes makes No’s so obvious now.
Thank you for your thoughtfulness and patience and tenderness and care. Thank you for allowing me to unfold before you. Thank you for taking the time to allow my body, my heart, my soul, to say… “Yes!”
Please remember…
I can’t always be consistent in how I make you feel.
I have my own demons too.
There is a place.
Somewhere in here, and somewhere out there, where the two meet… the Virgin and the Whore.
At first there may be conflict. At first one will overshadow the other. At first one will have a stronger, louder, more convincing voice. She will regale you with all the should’s, could’s, expected’s, are’s, is’s, wrongs, rights. All.the.things.
Eventually she will run out of reasons… and allow the Other a voice. At first that Other voice will be timid. Ashamed. Fearful. Lonely. Sad. Angry. “Why did you abandon me?!” she will cry.
And you will dance. You will dance them both into your body, and eventually you will dance them out into the world. You will give them space and freedom. Freedom to be, and express. Freedom to take up space… equally. Freedom to merge and become both the strength and softness for eachother.
And something will shift.
You will become the Goddess that encompasses both. You will find your power. The power that radiates the feminine. Fearful and Fearless. Nurturer and Seductress.
Those who are afraid will fade away. And those who are enamoured will step forward with desire to share in your power. Bringing forth their own. And together you will create a Bond. A spellbinding, mesmerising ritual that will stop others in their tracks and ask… ‘how do I have that too?’
And you will smile… and you will hold out your hand… and you will ask them to join the dance.
And those who hear the music will swirl and twirl and laugh and cry. And you will all be seen as crazy by those who don’t hear it… who don’t feel the call. Who don’t feel that pull to tear off your flesh and go back to the beginning. The time when we were all Gods and Goddesses… beyond flesh and bone and blood and sweat.
You will remember that once upon a time we all heard the call, and we all understood what it meant.
