Delicious and glorious and simple return to Mt. Bonnell.
Feeling fantastic – energetically and otherwise – about sex for the first time in weeks. The shadow is past.
Hopeful and restful all at once.
Reset to occur in less than 12 hours. February is when this year starts, for me.
It’s about connection.
That’s why a few weeks ago I would look forward to Facebook posts and messages from Her…
And why I spent the evening just watching hEr paint and play with her puppy and play music…
And why I’m yawning from exhaustion after days of work but still up texting heR now…
“Just now, with you, I came more in one session than I’ve ever come before.” – her
occurs for me to a woman like a Cubist painting does to the eye.
Watch Tennant’s miniseries fifteen times.
Read the biography and the entirety of the abridged autobiography.
Reread all of my journals as a successful reincarnation of The Master.
Intersperse quotes of his journals between quotes and memories within mine. Who was I being, for example, at that TurnON where I met EH?
LOVELY. This is a way to redeem 2013 AND to worship Casanova.
I spend so much time with my head stuck up my own ass. Instead of taking actions, I complain, I talk about it, I find people who agree with me about it, and I engage in gripe sessions.
Neuhaus was always already bankrupt, borne out of pain and the desire for validation.
One cannot be effective in forging meaningful relationships when the precontext is proof of one’s value. This is where The Nova Project was hiddenly born from – a quest for a certain kind of validation and salve for the pain of not seeking one’s self.
I realized yesterday how silly it would’ve been if I had succeeded at achieving “Casanova” – the neural pathways allowing me access to love get worn down, the more partners I have. And that’s what I’ve always wanted anyway: nourishing intimacy, love, connection, and hot sex within the context of a meaningful relationship. Yes, there is the potential for many such relationships, but I think open relationships might sometimes be the hideout spot of the hiddenly hurt.
I resonate with intimate relationships where I give all of who I am. I’ve been holding back myself out of fear and out of pain and out of this unnatural programmed quest “to get laid” or “to seduce.” These are not natural desires. They are inculturated.
OK, to summarize: I never failed to achieve Casanova. I had adventures, I enjoyed myself, I learned some things, and then I recognized that the real need was to love and pursue myself AND just allow whatever I am to naturally express itself without the constraint of impressing or manipulating others (they know when you do that, anyway). I can let go of whatever I think I “should” be and simply ALLOW whoever resonates with me to show up naturally.
Casanova: data points strung together into a pattern, a reification, out of fear of losing one’s self to the Flux
my how I’ve changed since this all started
love Scott H.
has it really been a whole YEAR?
i actually let someone in. deeply, too, this time.
What’s clear is I always wanted to be loved. Underneath it all, I wanted nurturing love and sex within the context of a magnificent relationship.
But more importantly, I want to occur for myself as whole, perfect, and complete in a durable and clear and clean way. Strong sense of self, independence…build the temple before setting it aflame.
See the drama don’t become it.
thanks Libra for the opportunities
dear Taurus graceful gratefulness
It’s roughly June…maybe July 2012. I am in my mother’s room on the phone with J, with whom I’d just broken up…but it was during that sensitive and cruelly chaotic confused period of vacillation that has often in the past occurred after I break up with women I care for deeply: I break up with them, then call them back missing them with desire to return to where and who we had been…
But it’s a Closer-style conversation. I’m asking her to share in vivid detail what kinds of awesome sex she has been having while I’ve just been alone. I’m making myself wrong for this AND for what’s been happening with her: The same woman who desperately missed me in her new bed, a few days after we broke up, so much so that I had a dream where she and I kissed that same night (or so I’d later learn)…was being touched and kissed and fondled and…fucked.
That’s what happened. The story that I made up was that: “There’s something wrong with me because I’m not having such satisfying sex. Something terribly wrong. I’m not good enough.”
This incident was the place wherein Casanova was formulated…and it was the creation of a strong suit.
I lived for years within that. Late 2012, Advanced Course was consumed by that. Then SELP: this blog was the result, there.
And now, ILP. I finally distinguished the inauthenticity.
I don’t need love or sex in order to be OK with myself and who I am…I am whole, perfect, and complete. There’s nothing to figure out.
I just realized that I gave you dead flowers yesterday. Roses. Somewhere brilliant between black, purple, and a beautiful red.
Decayed. Decayed and dead.
As if my unconscious mind had staged some sort of play which that moment was merely the denouement…
Graceful elegant majestic woman. I knew you and know you still, the honor is all mine.
Pierce the shell and rip the mask off, dear Taurus. You’ve shown me that even my deepest darkest and most chaotic authenticity…not only is acceptable, but also works.
Our possibility still lives, somehow. Even throughout all the chaos and confusion and back and forth, your even handedness, patience, compassion, and love I can still distinguish.
“In this moment, you are the love of my life.” It was true for but a moment before my Already Always Listening kicked back in.