the freedom of the crone

"If you want to be a bad ass sexually empowered woman, embrace your inner hag.

Thats right.

The crone.

The ancient old woman.

The witch.

The hag.

The crone archetype is an aspect of the feminine not exactly associated with sexuality.

Women groom themselves to be girls.

The younger the better.

Paint those lips red and blush those cheeks like you are wet and ripe for impregnation.

Make them believe you are in perpetual ovulation.

Make them hard.

Make them desire you.

Get that face lift.

Suck in that belly.

Bat those lashes.

Guess what.

The crone doesn't give a fuck.

And that is her power.

She embraces her spider lines and swinging, sagginesss.

After all, this is what life does to the body of a woman...eventually!

Does that make you uncomfortable?

Would you rather not see?

Her secret threatens to corrupt you.

She can make you wild.

She can reveal to you your power.

Your volcanic senseless holy

Once she opens her mouth, the jig is up.

They tell you she is crazy.

Dangerous because she has broken out of that jail cell you call restrictions.

How would you have sex if you didn't give a fuck about how pretty you look?

Or how flat your stomach is?

The crone is not an object of desire.

She is free to claim her own desire.

In a world that praises women for being objects of desire.

Where the more lust you can seduce the more value you possess, the crone is laughing with that cackle that only women of power have.

She does not possess the enchanting beauty of the maiden or the fertile reproductive juices of the mother.

She no longer bleeds.

She no longer bears children.

Her sex no longer waxes and wanes with the moon, gaining and draining energy with each passing tide.

She is full.

The portal to her blood has been sealed.

She is drinking in the nectar.

She is bathing in its luminous darkness.

Her sex is a diamond pressed and polished by years of experience and wisdom.

She has passed through all the phases of initiation as a woman.

That heavy web of social conditions all feminine creatures are baptized into.

She is unraveling herself from these webs.

She has liberated her sex from all their stories.

She is making it to the other side.

Freeing herself.

Without the ability to be a mother or a sex object, what is left of a woman and her sex?

I’ll tell you what,

Pure power that doesn't give a fuck.

Crazy wisdom that knows how to make love to the moment.

Sex that ripples through every authentic cell of your body.

Sex that pulses with every tiny whisper of life knowing life.

If you want to find the seat of your sexual power.

Your real deep sovereign sexual nature.

Find the crone that lives in you.

Wild. Ugly. Innocent. Real.

The real initiation begins here.”

~ Maya Luna

chemistry or alchemy

Chemistry or alchemy?

“The master was asked what was the difference

between chemistry and alchemy

in couple relationships and he replied

with these beautiful and wise words :

“People who seek ′′Chemistry′′ are love scientists,

i.e. they are used to action and reaction.

People who encounter ′′Alchemy′′

are artists of love, constantly creating

new ways of loving.

Chemicals love out of necessity.

The alchemists by choice.

Chemistry dies with time,

Alchemy is born through time ...

Chemistry loves the packaging.

Alchemy enjoys the content.

Chemistry happens.

Alchemy builds itself.

Everyone is looking for chemistry,

only a few find alchemy.

Chemistry attracts and distracts sexist and feminist.

Alchemy integrates the male and female principle,

so it transforms into a relationship

of free individuals with their own wings,

rather than an attraction that is subject

to the whims of the ego.

In conclusion, the master said

looking at his students :

“Alchemy brings together what chemistry separates.

Alchemy is royal marriage.

Chemistry & divorce we see everyday in most couples.

′′Let's start building conscious relationships,

because chemistry will always make your body age.

′While alchemy will always caress us from within′′~

 

author unknown

i never knew

 i came across this piece of writing the other night as i was going through a notebook.  i have a habit of writing thoughts down whenever they come and wherever i can find paper and pen at the moment.  this was written some months ago...

i never knew

there was a time when i thought i was whole.

i thought i didn't really need what i now find i do.  

i thought if i tried hard enough i could convince myself that love and passion weren't necessary, that something must be wrong with me, that these needful feelings would fade and i could adapt like so many women i knew.  i really hoped this was true.

you proved to me it wasn't.  i never knew how much woman i could be until i became her with you.  i never knew the power in me until you unleashed it.  only with you did i become the untamed lioness and queen.

until you i never knew.

grieving all things

it is nearing my 67th birthday.  i'm not sure how i feel about this.  part of me is mourning the passage of time and how little seems to be left considering most of my life is now behind me.  in my mind i have always told myself i'll live to be a ripe old age of 88.  in reality i know the odds of that a slim considering my health issues.  the other part of me is grateful for the time i have had and have left and that i am still capable of looking after myself and having somewhat of a life, although not quite the one i would like.

i mourn the life i knew at one time...the country life, growing my own produce and living more naturally and happily.  i know i can never go back and in some ways i wouldn't want to.  but i get down because there are things i cannot do alone.  things i want to do.  i sometimes feel i have no support, no one to help.  well actually that's not a feeling, that's the truth of it. and i often don't mind being alone.  in fact i sometimes prefer it. but i don't like feeling alone.  i admit, there are times when i greatly miss having a partner to not just share the load, but to feel supported. 

tonight i felt as if i were mourning my past life, my current life, those i have lost in life and those i'm on the verge of losing.  it doesn't help that covid is still a major factor in outings and living in a small town offers little of interest.  maybe i'm just focusing on the negative tonight.  all i know is i feel overwhelmed and dismal. all i want to do is eat, cry and smoke a cigarette. the latter i won't do but not doing it is why i've gained wait and gaining weight is why i'm hating on myself.

i want this coming birthday week to be a good one, one of celebration.  right now that feels impossible.  

we are not wrong to feel as we do

 

Poem: Mário de Andrade - The Valuable Time of Maturity

I counted my years

and realized that

I have less time to live by,

than I have lived so far.

I have more past than future.

I feel like that boy who got a bowl of cherries.

At first, he gobbled them,

but when he realized there were only few left,

he began to taste them intensely.

I no longer have time to deal with mediocrity.

I do not want to be in meetings where flamed egos parade.

I am bothered by the envious,

who seek to discredit the most able,

to usurp their places, coveting their seats,

talent, achievements and luck.

I do not have time for endless conversations,

useless to discuss about the lives of others

who are not part of mine.

I no longer have the time to manage

sensitivities of people who despite their chronological age, are immature.

I hate to confront those that struggle for power,

those that ‘do not debate content, just the labels’.

My time has become scarce to debate labels,

I want the essence.

My soul is in a hurry …

Not many cherries in my bowl,

I want to live close to human people, very human,

who laugh of their own stumbles,

and away from those turned smug

and overconfident with their triumphs,

away from those filled with self-importance.

The essential is what makes life worthwhile.

And for me, the essentials are enough!

Yes, I’m in a hurry.

I’m in a hurry to live with the intensity that only maturity can give.

I do not intend to waste any of the remaining cherries.

I am sure they will be exquisite, much more than those eaten so far.

My goal is to reach the end satisfied

and at peace with my loved ones and my conscience.

And per Confucius “We have two lives

and the second begins when you realize you only have one.”

i am from

something i penned a couple of years ago...

I am from the the hills of Kentucky and the small towns and countryside of Ohio , from factories and farms.

I am from hay wagons and pickup trucks to waiting on big yellow school buses at the end of the driveway.

I am from family reunions under the huge oak tree in Granddaddy's valley and swimming in Black River, from big red barns, corn cribs and walks down country roads.

I am from Mom's wood cook stove and Granddaddy's smokehouse, summer gardens and putting food by.

I am from hand me downs and hand made quilts, making do and “waste not, want not”, from Granddaddy's love of small wild things and Grandmother's grace in an apron.

I am from poetry, guitars, fiddles and old songs to rock and roll, from baby dolls and playing house to the Beatles, Bob Dylan and mini skirts.

I am from bare wood floors, pot belly stoves and shivering after a bath.

I am from Saturday trips to town, five and dimes and stocking up when you can.

I am from Daddy's work ethic and Mom's ingenuity, from fried chicken, fluffy white biscuits with milk gravy and old metal lunch boxes.

I am from endless summer days, red rover red rover, and a fresh drink of water from the outdoor pump, from, “don't come in until I call you”, July nights of catching lightning bugs in canning jars to watch them glow under the covers, blanket tents and transistor radios.

I am from respecting your elders and being seen and not heard.

I come from hard work, resilience and making the best of what you have.

I am who I am because of where I come from. I carry the spirit of the past and my ancestors with me.

 

s.cooper

echo

i didn't let you see me cry when you left for home today.

i thought i wouldn't cry at all, but once you were on the road

i did.

you see, when you leave there's always this empty space

in my home and my heart where we lived and loved together

for a few days.

i think some people are meant to be together

because each other is their destiny and anytime apart 

is too much time wasted. 

and i think that's us, but i know...

i know it's too soon and it's too big of a thing 

for us to consider and maybe it always will be

and i'm not unhappy with the way things are,

but when you leave there is a hollow 

where the absence of you

is so very loud it echoes.

 

 

 

a man who takes his time

Have you ever met a man who takes his time? A man so in tune with your energy, your mood, your expression that he knows what you need without an explanation?

A man who doesn't push you away when you're upset or frustrated. A man who knows how to stand with firmness and calm in his masculine while your feminine works it out.

He's taken time to get to know your mind and your body. He sees you, he listens to the little things, even when you don't know he's listening.

He learned how to connect with your mind and he's learned how to touch your body. He's able to slow things down and read your body's response to his touch. He doesn't rush, he's not pleasing you for his own release. It's for you with no expectation, no pressure, no manipulation, no games.

You can let go because he's created a space of absolute respect and trust. He knows when to kiss you softly, when to hold you gently or when to consume your mind and body with masculine power and intensity.

Only a man who takes his time gives a woman time to experience every level of response, layer by layer, deeper and deeper until her mind, body and soul all explode together.

Only a man who takes his time can give her a release of what lays caged beneath her surface. And only a man who takes his time will ever glimpse the heights of ecstasy a woman is capable of, her secret remains hidden to all others.

Author: Jennifer Funk

(my response to the question asked at the beginning of this essay is yes, i have met this man and i fell in love with him)

another gem from john

 

 

I can't think of

anything more

boring

than living by

the expectations

of other people

let the hens gossip

and cluck and clack

whenever you walk

into the room with your

mismatched socks and

stardust falling out

of your wild pink hair

because in a little while

when you get up to leave

to continue on with

your adventure

every single one of them

will secretly wish that

they were going with you

~ john roedel (johnroedel.com)

a bit of wisdom from john roedel

came across this man's writings on fb and after checking his page, found this gem:

I have now taken 47.5 lumbering trips around the sun to observe the human experience and here is a brief recap on a little I have learned so far:

The angriest people are usually
the ones who are the most afraid.

Empathy is a very under-taught
subject in our schools.

People who can’t laugh at themselves
make for terrible comedians.

If you mix Daiquiri Ice and Chocolate
ice cream at Baskin Robbins you’ll know
exactly what heaven tastes like.

Not enough people take the time
to jump in puddles.

We somehow normalized giving
our guns baby names and naming
our babies after guns.

The inside of our eyelids play
the same monster movies over and over.

Dandelions aren’t weeds. No, they aren’t. Stop arguing with me.

A womb is a temple of miracles where souls and bodies form the most perfectly strange communities.

By the way, hospice beds are the exact same.

Politics make for terrible eyeglasses
to see the world through.

There are not enough books written about lighthouses and way too many about vampires.

We take part in so many things that
don’t bring us joy all in the name of “tradition”.

The best naps happen during rainstorms.

Our cell phones have more plans
than our actual lives.

We fetishize butterflies a little
too much, I mean, come on.

Kissing is magic. If a kiss doesn’t
feel magical then it isn’t one. It’s just
lip chores.

We choose if the holes in our hearts
kill us or turn us into woodwind instruments.

Rivers have taught me as much about God
as Sunday School ever did.

If we stare up into the stars long enough
we will feel this little tug on the threads of
our spirit. It will be like the pull of a magnet.
We are drawn upwards. We are attracted to
the expanse. We are being called to return
where it is we came from. We come to know
that everything out there in the endless field
of celestial delights came from the same burst
of creation that eventually formed us. And those
thoughts are gently pulling on us every time we
gaze up into the night sky.

Trees make really wonderful life coaches.

Whenever we hold hands with each other
our pulses try their best to synchronize.

There should be an Olympic sport
that is all about untangling extension cords.

Eating a hamburger while sitting
on the hood of a car is something
people should go do more often.

Our memories should never have
walls to them. We should be able
to visit them without getting stuck.

We treat grief like it’s a summer storm
-as if it’s a temporary event that will
quickly pass. It won’t. Grief is a comet.
It terraforms our world.
Grief doesn’t always destroy us - but it
changes the shape of our continents.

We hide too much beautiful art in places
where we only people who don’t care
about art can afford to see it.

I think whomever created pulp-free orange juice didn’t quite understand what orange juice is.

Sex in movies makes people cringe more than
mass murder in movies and that probably makes the angels weep.

Mothers should be given 10% discounts. Everywhere.

The best name any flower has ever
been given is “Baby’s Breath”.

Kindness is elemental.

A slow drive down a dirt road with the exact right song playing can be a baptism.

I’m hopeful that we have finally
reached the saturation point
of reality tv shows involving
angry neighbors and retired judges.

Although, I can’t quite prove it yet, I think every gust of wind is a ghost trying to win a race.

Our hearts are sponges. What we put in is what squeezes out.

When we fall in love we don’t actually fall. We float. We become weightless.

We have turned the expectations of other people into anchors that we wear our our necks. We are curving our spines by trying to fit in.

Airplanes look they shouldn’t work but somehow they do and we just get over it ~and that is the kind of shoulder shrugging we should do for people who live their lives in ways that we don’t understand.

Listening to new music is an easy way to turn our minds into gates instead of bank vaults.

People are good - some of them just forget it.

We put way too many people in prisons, boxes, their places, in timeout and in hell.

If the universe can still be expanding after all this time then I should willing to do the same. Every morning we become a newborn galaxy. Every breath we take is a baby sun. Every word of kindness we speak can build a new Earth in someone else’s heart.

Nobody can tell you how to heal.

There should be more cupcakes. I know
there are already a bunch of cupcakes, I
just think there should be more.

~ john roedel (johnroedel.com)