Clouded

Clouded

I had a moment at a tantric yoga healing session.

I was nervous, awkward, shut down- and the instructor knew it. I put on a fake smile and bubbly personality. Looking from the outside in, this girl didn’t fool anyone.

I wasn’t ready to be so honest. When it was my turn to share my intentions and past, I babbled and deflected. Psalm Isadora stared through my façade and I choked. I timidly stated I had sexual trauma and we moved on.

Throughout the day my fake smile started to mold. I wanted to cry and scream and rage, but I held tight to that smile.

Beginning to crumble, I ran to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I saw my dad.

A robot. Clouded eyes. Fake smile. It was terrifying.

I don’t want to live in a fantasy world anymore. I want connection, authenticity, darkness and light. I want to grow and change, conquer and enjoy the life I have been given.

Beginning on that day, a desire grew to have clear eyes.

I saw a recent photo of myself at a party. I was poolside with my closest girlfriend. My body and hair looked pretty, but my smile was strained. My eyes- lifeless. And I cried.

I cried for the missed connections, the strain of pretending, and for my dad. A man I’m not sure has ever really lived.

Running to the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

My eyes. They were bright, alive, and full of pain. They were beautiful.

 

 

Shameless, Not Fearless

Shameless
Some parts of myself scare me.
My obsessive nature. My desire to control and manipulate as I obsess.
These parts of my personality are not fun, and I am ashamed of it at times.
For instance, boys.
They give me the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. Why?
I don’t want my emotions to be so affected by a man.
In the past I would brush aside the feelings of rejection. Or cover them with distractions and booze.
Well today, I am choosing to sit in my discomfort.
Normally, I struggle with frigidity.
I keep my sexual energy hidden, buried, and cold. Out of fear.
Fear of vulnerability. Fear of rejection. Fear of judgement.
Sometimes I got the sense that my husband gained satisfaction from shaming me and rejecting me.
There was a night of abandon, not too long ago.
I slept with a man and left myself completely open.
This guy had the face of David Gandy and the personality of Larry David.
He was also 6’5″.
We met uneventfully on Valentine’s Day for lunch. He was dry and reserved, but nice.
When I text him later on, he was shocked, saying he had no indication that I was into him.
He then explained how beautiful he found me and how he wanted to kiss me and be inside of me.
A couple of weeks of texting and selfies, I was in an uber to Buschwick.
We made polite conversation and then he took my mouth with his. It felt so good to be touched tenderly by an affected and responsive man.
My divinity came out to play. I seduced him, teased him until I ached.
It is burned into my brain the way he stared into my eyes with wonder and sank into me. I loved it.
We were soft, slow, rough, primal.
At one point he was standing off the bed, entering me from behind.
As I clenched around him and swiveled my hips, he lost his conscious thought but kept talking.
“Dirty Bitch” left his mouth on an exhale. I was so glad my back was to him or I would have laughed in his face.
With the next 5 strokes, he would repeat “pussy” on every entrance. “Pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy”. I felt like I was in a Seinfeld episode.
After, he stood in the kitchen, naked and eating gelato. I had to ask about the coital articulations.
Surprisingly, he was not embarrassed. He just owned it, but couldn’t explain it.
I was still unsatisfied, so once in bed I began kissing his neck and caressing his body. He told me there was no way and cradled me to go to sleep.
But I was burning. I wanted him.
I laid there and fantasized about us kissing and touching. Right before he entered me in my dream, the real thing pounced. He was desperate and wild. And we almost broke the headboard.
I could feel it cracking under my hands, but he kept hitting my G spot and I didn’t care.
It felt so good.
He was concerned about my pleasure and couldn’t stop himself from kissing me over and over.
The next morning we had slow, easy sex before he had to get ready for work.
It was such a good morning. I basically skipped to the coffee shop before taking the happiest train ride home.
We texted a couple of times after, but never met up again.
He didn’t love me. He allowed me to love myself and my prowess in the moment, and that’s what made it great.
The best part- this was completely sober.
Normally, masturbation helps me to sleep. I would read a steamy novel, manipulate the situation in my mind and orgasm. But I was never a participant.
I was a fly on the wall in my sexual fantasies.
Last November, I decided I wanted to be the star. Let it be around me. And my brain fought me.
In my fantasies there would be an angry spouse, unforeseen blockages or excuses to stop the tryst.
This is something I continue to struggle with.
Today I had a breakthrough. I was doing tantric yoga with a rose quartz yoni egg. I decided I wanted a healing orgasm.
I struggled with my mind for an hour. Hot, cold, blocked, scared.
Until finally a golden light spread like veins from my belly. My back arched. My clit throbbed and my body zapped with electricity.
An outline of a man made of pure white light entered me and my orgasm rolled throughout my body.
It felt like such a huge victory.
I continued to massage my entire body in a bubble bath, feeling powerful and whole.
I was ready to seduce the world, and my date, Kane.
Except Kane never called.
My obsession to reach out to him or constantly check my phone took over.
Every message from my girlfriends sent a dash of hope through my body.
But he never texted.
I know I shouldn’t take it personally, he doesn’t know me.
Him flaking is on him, there’s nothing I did wrong or should change about myself.
So I choose to sit here in my discomfort and reflect.
Trusting that every experience I am supposed to have won’t miss me.

Grilled Cheese

NYC
Am I only dreaming?
My dreams have for years revealed parts of myself or have sent words of warning.
I played down their power. Saying it’s my unconscious piecing pictures together for me that I do not allow in my awakened state. Which is plausible. Without questioning their source, I always took heed.
Even when I was religious, I looked at dreams seriously.
So early this morning when I dreamt of a love, I knew it shouldn’t be written off.
In my dream I was in bed with a handsome man. He had blonde, wavy hair and smooth, tan skin.
Cradling me into his side and covering my body with a powdery blue sheet, he sighed in contentment.
I was expecting to feel comfort and bliss. Instead, I jolted with an alarming voice.
“This is childish and shallow love.”
Waking up, a question hung in the air:
“What is love?”
I of course went back to sleep immediately.
A couple of hours later and I am making coffee and setting my intentions for the day, pushing away the urge to dive into my dream and it’s haunting inquiry.
Fast forward to my mid day Kundalini class.
I’m lying flat on my mat, completely melded to the Earth. I have another visual, not curious for yoga and meditation.
I was surrounded by angels. They were dancing and giggling and pouring a beautiful golden light into my head, filling my body through the tip of my toes.
And that same dream voice declared “It’s you.”
And I cried, in public.
My first thought was “I hope I’m not disturbing the person next to me.”
My second thought being “I am love. I am perfect. There is no search for bliss or contentment. It’s me. It’s not a strong man to lay my head next to. It’s my loud, playful, passionate spirit.”
Something inside of me finally sated.
That careful facade I keep in place, not wanting to admit it, but a constant state of searching for validation and companionship finally evaporated.
Being single is weird.
When I separated from my husband, the idea of dating was so exciting. Last I dated, there were no smart phones or dating apps. This was a new world.
Being the scientist and planner that I am, I strategized and prepared.
“I would need to accept rejection and guard my feelings, while following my gut and taking leaps.”
Especially when I moved to New York. I was going on 3-4 dates a week. My all time record being 3 in one day.
I would cut it off or they would disappear. My intentions and desires were never clear to me.
I was searching for intimacy, and when it presented itself, I was too terrified to accept it.
I eventually gave up on dating.
Put away my apps, stopped making eyes on the street or wearing makeup to bars.
But both felt wrong.
I was burning.
Today I had a spiritual grilled gruyere sandwich. My burning hunger, sated.
I detach from this mentality that true fun, emotion, creativity and emotion are a reflection from my partner. The “Life is better when you share it” state.
I can live in technicolor, alone.
Thank you, angels.
Thank you, New York.
Thank you, grilled cheese.