There was this complete funeral dirge for my sensuality not too long ago. I'd been in a decades long relationship that frittered away slowly, like the ocean chipping at the seashore, eroding the banks of my interest, and suddenly it was reawakened. I'd found that I loved it, it wasn't a chore, it wasn't something to get over with as soon as possible, and I did not consider what was on TV that I'd rather be watching. All I considered was every nerve ending was hype to this person, and he to mine.
Unfortunately, that's not the only thing to be had amongst two individuals, and I am not in possession of myself enough to separate sex and relationships, so it has ended, and I'm back to where I had been before. Shuffling along, toting the carcass of a powerful Id, draped in a sheer cloth and lit with a string of blue lights. Like any energy, I'm sure it's still there, still waiting to evolve and bring me back into mindhouse of a pornographic priestess, those spinners and weavers of intimacy that is a freely given sacrifice unto the stars, to the gods who surely must be voyeurs, and to the completion of my own spirit. I just will not nullify any single part of myself to gratify any other part. I will be worshipped holistically as I will worship holistically and thus. This priestess is now celibate, to nourish all the dry ground that was neglected, to bring stability into the corners of my world. It's not that important, even though it's on the baseline, of Maslow's Heirarchy of Needs...Food, Water, Shelter, Air, and Sex. My need to nurture is calling stronger right now, and I get most pleasure in simply giving of myself to others. To holding their hands, and making them laugh, to expanding my own consciousness by listening, and expanding others...also by listening. Spring is drawing to a close, and summer in all it's decadent heat is waiting to incinerate my cogitations and labile libations, and in the meanwhile. I will be my own lover, in every sense. It just feels right, for now.
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