When my Top Categories become as depressing as a long December night, I think to myself, “Dawn, your blog is really not as steamy as you had intended it to be.” I guess that when I have choice subject-matter to write about, I am far too euphoric to calm my body down and listen to my thoughts. Sexuality leads my body and sorrow seems to have direct access into my pulsating heart. Wine dulls my mind a lot of the time although occasionally I have eruptions of words that seem to swarm out of me in chaotic fashion, like bees in a rose garden. Not entirely without order, but almost.
The Solstice is behind us, the days imperceptibly longer… I feel like getting back to writing about sexuality, because in my humble opinion, there is nothing more relevant to every human being, because at the end of the day, what is more important? Nothing else makes me feel more vibrant, nothing else on earth reminds me more that I exist. Fucking/love-making whatever is certainly where our lives all began, our connection to the chain of life. When I started writing here, I shyly hedged around my chosen topic and really, in my adult life I guess that I have tried to put a large pillow on the face of this floundering aspect of myself. As if suffocation would be an effective method, like cutting off your own legs in order to keep on walking. I’ve been running quite a bit lately, galloping, and I am inflated with oxygen. Pumped up. Bubbles, invisible to the naked-eye yet somehow perceptible to others, slip out of me…multi-colored reminders of recent rendezvous. Reminders of letting myself go, like soaking in a warm bath, relieving tensions and filling me with hope.
The body cannot be the victim of the mind nor the heart. They are one. Heal your body, anoint what ails you and your heart and mind will follow. Or at least that is what I’m hoping.