On Desire & How to Harmonize Yourself With Your Hungers

“Desire is the engine of creation. Desire is an evolutionary impulse. Desire leads the way home.” —Danielle LaPorte

We live in a culture where we glorify & congratulate those who follow the rigidity of schedules, diets, regimens, & to do lists; where we’re more prone to denying our needs because in doing so we nobly show self-control & temperance; where our imperviousness towards macarons, reality television, & sleeping in past 6am make us to be a warrior of some kind—one who has the composure & sensitivity of a robot.

I don’t think I have to tell you that we are not robots, yet we regulate, govern, & maintain strictness with our delicate needs as though we were.

Many of us are suffering silently the callings of our hearts to indulge, to feel, to impulsively & deliberately quench the thirsts of our souls. We suffer because we choose to go against our inherent tendency for pleasure, for goodness, for ecstasy, for joy, that which is meant to be our natural state of existence & thriving.

I’ve been working with women one-on-one in the realm of sexual liberation, but we almost always end up on the subject of desire; specifically, what it is they want, what it is they crave, what it is their bodies, minds, & spirits are begging for, & how they can attune themselves to Desire’s whispers (or boisterous bellows) so that they can finally feel harmonious in their bodies & in their sexual expressions.

It always starts with this one simple question: What are your desires?
And then. . . What do you yearn for, crave for?

When I hear these questions, my mind is swarming with its own ideas & visions. . .

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How to Love Your Yoni

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I was reading the newspaper a few weeks ago & saw an ad on the outer corner of a page with the headline “Love Your Lady Parts.” Reading that, I became instantly filled with joy that there was something somewhere in local media that would herald such a positive message to the women of Portland.

But then I continued reading.

“If a large or thickened labia is keeping you from doing the things you love. . . you don’t have to suffer silently. Labiaplasty is a safe solution & is performed right in Portland.”

What a horrendous letdown.

How could slicing off one’s inner labia possibly be the answer to loving one’s lady parts? In my own mind, I cannot imagine how this could be an answer. But I have a personal inclination to love my yoni. Not all have that perspective.

I do not condemn those who choose to get a labiaplasty in order to find peace & acceptance with their vulvas. What I condemn is the idea that getting a labiaplasty is the only option one has to finding peace & acceptance with their vulva.

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Sensual Experiences of an Empath on a Bus Full of Rain-Soaked Humans

“Breathe next to me. And I will capture a piece of your soul along with mine.” —Marikit dR. Camba

I’m on the #15 bus. It is filled to the steaming brim with people trying to get to their homes on the southeast side of Portland. There are so many people on this bus that people are standing & bodies are aloofly rubbing against each other. All of this is made even more stimulating because it is currently downpouring in monsoon-like fashion & everyone is sopping wet.

I find myself growing excited at the sensual nature of this bus ride — bodies dripping with water, windows fogged, faces & limbs so close to one another that they can feel the heat of the blood coursing through their veins.

I managed to find a seat near the start of the route, but barely. To my left, an older gentleman is playing a word game on his iPad, completely engrossed in bettering his score.

To my right, a young man with a bulging backpack stands in the aisle, his glasses speckled with droplets of water. He isn’t wearing a jacket & is soaking wet. His hair slowly drips onto the palms of my hand. In those droplets, I smell remnants of the product he used in his hair today, which reminds me of being at summer camp when I was 13, & how all the boys, so new in their blossoming manhood, would layer on colognes & aftershaves & hair gels, producing a potent, conflicting fragrance with notes of wild teenaged spirit.

In front of me, a professional-looking man sits & keeps getting text messages on his beeping flip phone that make him smile. And each time he grins, I feel the very little space we have around us in the bus expand slightly with happiness. I notice he has a beautiful jade-green ring on his pinky finger & I admire it.

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Four of My Favorite Sexuality Books — & I’m Giving Them Away

In my office there is a bookcase that belongs completely to me, & on its shelves it stores all of my favorite reads relating to sex & sexuality, feminism, erotica, self-discovery, & other sensual pleasures.

Every book resting on those shelves I consider a treasure, both of knowledge & sentiment. I adore my books, & any that I add to my collection I add with the intent to keep them for the rest of my life. I very, very seldom loan books out. I like the idea of having them always, as though just their being there emits wisdom upon me.

And as much as I’d love to hold onto all of my books for sentimental reasons, I can’t help but think that some of them could serve someone in my community much better than if they were to sit on my bookshelves & collect dust (which they continue to do).

So. . . in the spirit of Spring cleaning, I’m giving away four books from my personal collection.

These four books are very special to me because they were the first sex/sexuality books I read when I began to step into my sexuality & eagerly seek oneness with my sensual, feminine self.

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I Am Not Bisexual

(IPDATE: I’ve recently made peace with the word bisexual as it is used to describe my sexuality. See this post for more.)

There are words in my language that I do not like. Words that, when said, grate on my nerves as if I had been cut open & had tiny bits of shrapnel put inside my wound.

One of these words is bisexual.

The moment I typed out that I was bisexual, I felt a jolt of energy pulsate through my body, as if I had just licked a battery, as if I had been startled by a noise outside & a million tiny hairs on my body stood on end with alertness. I could feel my breath halt for just a few seconds at the utter realization of that one truth: I am bisexual. I ruminated over this one sentence & the rest of the writing for several days after it was composed, not entirely sure if I had the guts to publish it.

And when I finally did decide to publish it, I felt that same jolt of electricity, that same zap of in-the-moment presence that accompanies any hard or exciting or scary choice I make. It’s hard to explain the feeling. It’s part exhilaration, part queasiness, part soulful elation.

I felt those three things again, coupled with that jolt of electricity, when I actually spoke the words I am bisexual to a listening ear. Only this time, the sensations that moved through my body lingered longer. It made me dizzy. I couldn’t stop wondering if I had spoken too spoke, said too much, revealed a part of me that perhaps needed to rest longer.

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