the pirate ship

February 23, 2008 at 11:29 pm (archetype, friendship, history, sexuality)

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i lived in a house full of beautiful boys a long time ago. they were rebellious and rowdy and drunk. i played with them and bore the brunt of their frustrations. it was uncanny how many of these boys had pirate flags. the jolly roger hung from windows and walls at every turn.

when the sun dropped and the sky darkened, that house with big windows felt like a ship rocking on the water. we were drifting on the sea, waiting for a ship of riches to come along to pillage and destroy.

the boys didn’t frighten me. i grew up with rough and tumble brothers.

i thought of the boys as brothers. i wanted to be one of them with the rights and privileges young, handsome men have. i thought they saw me as one of them, thought they saw past the obviousness of my femininity and sexuality.

they didn’t.

my lover at the time was threatened by the pirates. he wasn’t one of them, could never be one of them. he didn’t want me getting drunk with them. it puzzled me that he felt threatened. these were my friends after all, though deep in my heart, there was lust for some.

i unknowingly toyed with them. i flirted mercilessly, all the while denying it.

how could i help it? they were beautiful and i had them all to myself.

those boys chased me, teased me, adored and spurned me. by the end of our time together i was a howling, wounded mess. abandoned by my lover, i had no protection.

though i knew they didn’t want to hurt me, they were often mean when intoxicated. they turned on me more than once, channeling their frustrations with women onto me. we brushed against some blurry lines.

IT WAS FANTASTIC.

years later i know where most of them are.

one, dear to my heart, (the catalyst that drove the lover away) came to my wedding and ate supper with my new husband and i. it flattered me deeply when he said to my new mate, “she had this energy…and everyone wanted to be a part of it.”

it was just me, wanting to be a pirate with the rest of the boys.

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tantra

January 22, 2008 at 5:54 pm (archetype, divine feminine, exploration, power, sexuality)

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i studied tantra yoga for a while, back when i was single and carefree. i briefly considered becoming an instructor, though i doubted my abilities on many levels.

my intuition was validated at a tantra teacher’s training in hawaii. there were a lot of nuts in attendance and though i have a high tolerance for nuts, i quickly realized that any work involving sexuality would be rife with the wounded and the weird.

there were a bevy of young beauties in attendance, powerful, goddess-women. the men on the other hand, were older, wrinklier, and creepy. the inequity was so clear. we were studying the oldest profession in the world, legitimized and cased in spiritual terms. these lovely ladies were out to capitalize on their youth and sensual gifts. they were business women.

the men were just hoping for some touch.

in tantra, everything hinges on the woman. she is the force of divinity, the queen and priestess. it is the woman’s unending sexual energy that heals and opens the masculine. i saw men curled into little balls of infantile catatonia. i saw men open to archetypal forces greater than themselves. one man had the glazed eyes of an addict as he scheduled sessions with any woman able and willing to accept large sums of cash in exchange.

the truth is, i had natural talent for the work. i learned quickly, the arts and techniques of using sexual energy for healing. i loved the power behind it, but didn’t know how to cope with the revulsion. i battled moments of fear with certain men, fear of losing control, fear of their primal urges, fear of the rage that needed healing. It bothered me to be intimate with people i had no affection for or attraction to.

i saw how easy it would be to build a business of sensual massage and healing breathwork. i knew exactly what kind of client would come. MEN. divorced and lonely with plenty of disposable income. men who’d been roughed up by the angry american woman. the emasculated, beat down, affection craving, kinky old men. i liked these men but i didn’t want to take my clothes off for them.

all that grinding and panting and chanting started looking unhealthy. it was as if some carefully controlled energetic component was unleashed and though it may have been the best healing ever for the person in question, i found myself in retreat.

in the end, it was simply too unromantic for this lady. though i may be rough and tumble in the dark, when the light is blinding i retreat.

some things are sacred after all.

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witch

January 13, 2008 at 5:08 am (archetype, destruction, history, magic, power)

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when i was a young woman, i wanted to be a witch. i was desperately searching for an archetype that represented force, magic and mystery. the witch fit the bill for awhile. i bought books, burned candles and incense. i payed close attention to the cycles of the moon in order to capitalize on available power.

i learned a few simple spells, always to do with love. though i knew it was wrong to manipulate, i tried anyway. the last spell i cast was one of my own making. it involved fire and the burning of many names. it wasn’t just for me, it involved friends and associates.

looking back, my arrogance and innocence astounds me.

at the time, i was in love with a man i considered my soul mate. i wrote our names on a piece of paper and burned it, hoping to set us both free to love each other more deeply.

within a week, he slept with a girl from his past and i ended up in bed with one of his friends. in two days i went to the darkest space of hell i’d ever imagined. it was as if i had been tossed into a bottomless pit of pain.

all around me, established relationships crumbled and changed. everyone i had involved in the spell seemed out of control and crazy. affairs were exposed and people swapped partners. it was as if we were all trapped in a snowglobe; shaken, chaotic, blurry and COLD.

i never cast a spell again.

my lover moved on after we half-heartedly tried to put ourselves back together. i knew it was over when i saw him after a short trip and felt my heart sink into my stomach. we’re still in touch, for the love was great and powerful but i can now see that my spell accelerated a process that had to unfold. he was never meant to be mine.

the witch still haunts me but i manage to keep her at bay. my capacity for destruction is just too tempting to play with.

i feel a new archetype taking shape, but she remains unnamed…no longer a maiden, certainly a mother, moving towards crone…

and always a fallen woman.

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