I believe in other worlds. When I write, where do the words come from? They arrive from a long distance. They feel like spirit, to me. Love feels like spirit.
Sex is possible with our bodies, but also our minds, at the same time. Or just our minds, in the case of sex long distance. The spirit is swirling around there too, tendrils of pink love around us like soft soft safety.
I’m begging to be safe, really. Damaged kid, hurting still from so many old things. Please, pay attention to me, in a nice way. A little tenderness would do a lot of work. It’s not my fault, the damage I carry. What kid would choose that.
And if someone’s hurting me, I feel like a hardass, saying no, they are not allowed to do that to me. Setting a boundary feels awkward–there’s always good mixed with the bad. I don’t want to hurt anyone.
For so long, I was too scared to do it. Now I know many people could love me, so I can find the people who are kind in the ways that work for both of us.
All of us, really. My spouse is always by my side–if someone hurts me, it hurts him almost as much. He’s the one listening to me cry and holding my hand through all of it. And the feelings reverberate out from there. Where is the ritual I needed?
Long distance love is real, but partially it depends on how good your imagination is.
There was a Buddhist teacher I had–she did a Tibetan kind of Buddhism, and at the end of a session, we would always dedicate the merit of our practice. It was a sweet way to offer love to the world, to remember our interconnection with all beings. To do it for ourselves, but know we were also doing it for everyone.
To bring more peace into the world.
I dedicate the merit of my blog today to the sex workers, gender anarchists, fat liberationists, community builders, and everyone being honest and doing love. You are amazing, and I believe in you.