Love Without Mirrors

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Love without Mirrors

The lovers tussle can become ingrown
devoid of faith, entangled in stories
without a mirror in sight
we two become a carnivorous mouth

she dances through the bony air –
like a hungry child
frothing at the scent of affirmation;
glistening off of destitute eyes
– the very sight of it –
a taste that all cast away hearts lust for.

If she could be a small thing, for just a while
she would live on the inside of him
for a moment
where decadence, meets defiance
and lays to rest
where time meets, complete silence
she is free to digress

-but you are not the home she seeks-


He, stretched marked and inflated
tired and furious
wolves beaten into subservience
a token for his eternal trespass
bound by blood and habit
he begs “please, make me whole again”

If he could be a hero, just for a moment
riding into the sunset, shameless
without consequence,
humanity cast to the wind, needing nothing
only passion and glory
and an exaggerated story
immortality at livings cost

-But you are not the damsel he craves-

You are lovers & together the maw rumbles
still hungry
repelled by the faithfulness
of seeing each other.
May you find your home,
in those that circle your waltz
those that hold space
in-between it all, to memorialize love.
to live beyond being food and conjure shared vision

These mirrors feed
beyond the beloved’s hand you hold
they bare witness to such nexus
the soul-storming steadfast village
that begs to awaken.
If you choose to chase the memory
of how we could be
love may become liberated
and truly be free

recoiled, in their own resounded rapture.
They may inspire, too powerful
to shudder and grovel
any longer

“In deep partnership – home is not found in the other person, but the willingness to make home together in the world” – Love Without Fear

-ac/mh

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Love Beyond WildFire

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Love until you’ve gone mad, and then once you get there – keep going. That’s where the lush stuff likes to hide.

Most people are taught to love with the transient and luminescent fragility of a candle’s flame. Leaving always a wondering of a greater capacity, a nagging “what if” whispering in your ear.

For a very long time I loved instead with the rebellious and destructive fierceness of a forest fire. All encompassing, passionate, erratic. Annihilative eros clearing all in its path. I burnt hot, I burnt out.
So then what else is there?

Rising from the ashes of that inferno, i embrace a rooted journey into the practice and scholarship of love. Roaming the crevasses and expense of the heart, to which I have yet to see any clear boundary or edge. Just an ever broadening horizon.

Instead of wild fire I choose to love like a cosmic catastrophe, as if every moment were a big bang. A constant and collective transformation.
Universe after universe dreamt through chaos, and crafted with order. With devotion and deep adoration in every beat in every sigh. I see now that authentic love is creation incarnate. I see that every moment, orgasm, heartbreak and wild abandon has been damn worth the continued fruits of the pilgrimage.

I cannot help but stand in awe at what strange and magnificent creatures we lovers tend to be.

– AppleCat

the heavy hearted ache

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Today I write with a heavy heart, as the internet has reminded me (right on schedule) that the world is really fucked up – and in a plethora of ways.

Our world, our us, our humanity. What does that word even mean? Humanity.

I have grounded myself into a place where I will not let the narcissistic self loathing of our times consume me, I will not let it convince me I am so tiny that I cannot make a difference; that I should just simmer in apathetic and easy complacency.
More and more I am coming to realize that what is “easy” is not simple, and what is simple is far from easy.

But it hurts so much, and somedays I yearn to feel that apathy, I crave to understand the languish places of which so many of us have landed. The state of being that allows people to live each day in a place where heartache has been abandoned.
Because damn this pang is raw, like a thousand indignant marchers grabbing my at throat, despite the lack of recollection of why they had began marching to begin with. Like the tainted oxygen surrounding us leaving my breath short, my own womb mirrors that of our Earth’s – rumbling, twisting and lurching with sediment.
The pang is raw with consumption; a woman trespassed and sold, a pig tagged and bled, water bottled and resold. As if the culprit could see any difference between the three.
Eat. eat. eat.

We live in a time where eye contact is shunned, connection to our adversaries, our lovers, our food. Shunned. The intimate courtship of love, sex and death – a fading art. A sin even.
For years we arrive and depart from inside each other, thrusting in and out. Flesh against flesh, in a desperate reach towards feeling anything at all. Uncontemplative copulation, contact without contact. Climax without Orgasm.

I see anguish, hatred, war, and poison. I see suffering, in a world that advocates killing but refuses to acknowledge that death exists as anything but an affliction. I see all that is natural, all that is us, being crucified and resurrected, wrapped in plastic and artificially manufactured by emaciated milky eyed children younger than my own.
And then sold back to us; lacquered, sterilized. For our safety.

That blasted blanket statement of a word, Safety. I do not feel safe in this world, and I would be brazen in assuming that neither do you. Yet I harbour such a huge fucking adoration for this little blue marble, despite that ever-present same ache threatens to consume me. When I saturated in it’s darkness I cannot help but imagine and skirt on understanding the actions of political self immolation – because this fire under my skin threatens to ignite. The fire of passion, what a fearsome tool to behold.
I am angry, and I am scared, I am in pain but more so than anything I still am so damn in that love. With you, with all of this, or rather what all of this could be; and if I could I would turn it off, but that didn’t work before and it certainly wouldn’t work now. A tidal rush of intensity breaking down the makeshift dam of indifference. Wild hearts do not take well to being confined.

So I cannot go on, yet I continue on because anything else would be a lie – tiresome and meager. I am broke but not broken, I am female bodied but not weak, I am invisible in the eyes of the government but prominent in the eyes of my peers, and this pushes me to go on, even though by all means of logic I cannot.
Logic, safety, ache. These are all subjective. And every day for the past week the eagles have been circling my house, a bat sputtered around my home in graceful disarray, and a finch died quietly in my hands. I watched my daughter sing joyfully on stage, my house later this evening will be filled with the laughter of like-minded loved ones – loved ones that also ache, that also cannot go on – but will anyhow.
As long as I can live in a world with eagles, bats, singing and like-minded hearts I will have love.
This is not the nonchalant white picket fence do nothing as the world burns type of love, nor is it the violent extremist rubber bullets and homemade bombs type of love. It’s a love that doesn’t exist in-between them, but in-fact beyond them, not despite them but because of them.

In response to the times we are in, something beautiful and furious has arisen. Something in you and I that may stand to redefine revolution as a whole.
So I have love, and it tends to the colossal loneliness, the crippling doubt, and the fear of that lingering encompassing ache.
This love whispers to me

“You ache? Good, you are fortunate for the reminder of the state of things. That that ache and make it your power, take that power and make it your gift”
-but damn, some days; somedays are harder than others.

So what is Humanity? Some would say adolescent, destructive, tantrum prone, regressive by force. Call me radical, foolish or idealistic but instead I -in the spirit of my “Post-Jadedness”- choose to ask “what it could be?’ and to see what it IS in smaller circles – That is what utterly enchants me and keeps me going on and on and on.
It is the beauty. That of which we are collectively and individually capable of – And to be in service to beauty’s progress is a damn fine place to be; ache and all.

-ac/mh

art credit: http://jojoesart.deviantart.com/art/Listen-to-your-Heart-578385317

untitled # :v

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unified by strife
contentious bloodshed,
bound hands, quell loves flow

war, you’ve taken me
countless centuries, lashing out
please hold me, once more

forgot to love, starving
starving, forgot how to chew
this home on tongues tip

pulling down heaven
hallowed ground, beneith our feet
see here, not elsewhere

seek to stop running
desire the present unveiled
together, we’re home

– AppleCat

art credit: http://fav.me/d7w37sw

The Ambiguous Nature of Integration: Why I need Feminism

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“Though her soul requires seeing, the culture around her requires sightlessness. Though her soul wishes to speak its truth, she is pressured to be silent.”
― Women Who Run With the Wolves

I recently made a post referring to myself as a Feminist. Said post proceeded to stir a bit of conflict in regards to an assumption of what “feminist” meant and my personal identification of the word. I was compelled to go deeper in to the ambiguous nature of integration.

I need to be honest here, this was the first time I have consciously called myself a feminist through public media, and in doing this I felt a great hesitation.
This statement along with the post was an underlining expression of choice to “out” myself. I had made it because I felt safe in my circle and assumed that they would understand my own connotations and not jump to derail the matter at hand because of their own projections and wounding.
I was wrong.

Know this, I have never publicly stated I was a feminist before because until a few years ago I never fully understood or accepted A: my own femininity or B: the history of violence, repression and degradation that Women have had to consistently live with for hundreds and hundreds of years.
But I didn’t want to identify as a victim, I didn’t want to put my own gender in to a box that identified their entirety as a victim.
In doing this though I missed a very important point, through out history we have been persecuted (believe me the irony of the etymology of that word “HIStory” being used in this context is not lost on me), and for me to spend a good portion of my life not recognizing that personal and collective trauma and instead choosing to sweep it under the rug has had dire consequences to me.

For example: I am only now coming to terms that I personally have had inflicted upon me both sexual and physical abuse – some of it was buried by my own PTSD, and the rest I justified with excuses that characterized the occurrences as “my fault” – because if it’s “my fault” then i have control of it. If it’s “my fault” I don’t have to be the damsel tied to the train tracks, the waif crying helpless on the side of the road – thats not me; so why would I need feminism?

Why? Because like it or not I feel that grief, and that anger – not AT men but at circumstance – and at the culture that allows me to spend my every day in fear of being hurt, manipulated, raped or killed. Every fucking day, it’s become autopilot to so many of us that we don’t even notice it anymore.

A not so brief example: I never listen to my Ipod with both earbuds in, I never walk close to a shrubbery, never enter a parking lot, playground, or walk too close to a parked car or back ally at night. Why? Because if you do, there is a chance you’ll be robbed, assaulted, raped and maybe killed if you struggle. It’s embedded in us so deeply that we don’t even shudder at these thoughts, that is the norm.
If we did venture to these places then it would be “our fault”.
This is what the culture has us believe, this is what we convince ourselves – to feign the illusion that we are in control. This is what we’re told by Women within their own denial when they hear we have been hurt and it presents them with an uncomfortable mirror.

Behind the tattered veil of so called civilization there is a War on the Feminine in our world, and many of those against us are in fact Women. Woman who are tired of being weak, battered and small choose instead to take the side that has convinced them that’s what they are.
Not men, but abusers. Whom as we all know come in all shapes, genders and forms, and many don’t even know what they are inflicting, and upon whom.

The ancestral anger is exceedingly palpable, but more so I feel what lays beyond it once properly expressed and acknowledged. Anger and grief are healthy emotions, but when they are not felt and dealt with skillfully they mutate into wrath. Wrath is chaotic, it is what the radical pro rape mens groups are drenched with, which is also what the angry violent “feminists” are soaked with. It’s the same destructive hatred, directed towards anything and everything that it perceived to have hurt them or may hurt them.
There is anger and pain in our history and being told to “get over it” is what’s causing it to fester in to wrath.
No one, -man or woman- will win that war.

“Male and female represent the two sides of the great radical dualism. But in fact they are perpetually passing into one another. Fluid hardens to solid, solid rushes to fluid. There is no wholly masculine man, no purely feminine woman.”
— Margaret Fuller

I didn’t want to identify as a feminist because most of my life I spent being close friends with men.
I saw them bullied, beaten and sexually abused and having no one to talk to about it. I watched them be told to suck it up, or that all men want sex regardless of the context, or plain and simple be told they were liars because they should be strong enough to fend off any abuser.
If the culprit was male, then the victim was scared to come across as a “pussy” or a “fag” that couldn’t defend himself. If the culprit had been female then the victim was bullied by his peers because “getting laid is getting laid” and berated because he couldn’t fight off a girl. Further perpetuating that Females are the weaker sex.

I love men, so much – I have such a grand appreciation for divine masculinity that I once almost completely relinquished my own gender on account of the abuse I saw inflicted upon the silent and victimized masculine.
I see the pain of the masculine and it’s rooted in the same wounds of the feminine – the same history unacknowledged, the collective trauma that defines Women and Victims as second class citizens. We need Feminism to create a safe place for all Genders that have been hurt – we need to heal together or the segregation will continue to destroy us.

I am a Feminist and I love men, I want to live in a world where they can be soft hearted, kind, and even feminine without having to feel weaker for it. I want to live in a world where Men and Women alike can feel safe to express their fears, insecurities, and traumas. AND RIGHT NOW, a redemption of the Feminine is needed to make a safe place for the reclamation of what it means to be a Man in this new emerging paradigm.
True feminism is not the adversary to Men as a whole, it’s the catalyst to change that will allow us to heal together and move in to a new space where harmonious integration is actually a possibility.

Why do I need Feminism?

Because I need to trust Women again, because I see my Mother, and her Mother and her Mother’s mother and so on all suffering from the same wound that has landed in me. I see my whole life effected by trauma that hasn’t been spoken to from fear of being labeled a radical angry feminist.
I see being angry as a learned defence mechanism – because being angry is the only way we can feel sorrow whilst still feeling powerful. I see years of broken relationships with women, a lack of trust, a completely lack of sisterhood, a longing of which we no longer have a name for – so we become Catty, and say things like “I’m not like those other girls” – as if abandoning our gender so nonchalantly is something that would make us better people.
I need feminism because we need to trust ourselves as women and our sisters without tearing them down. AND that has nothing to do with men, nor does it hold any threat to any man of whom is confident in himself.

I need Feminism because I can’t say Feminism or speak about wounding that has occurred to Women without a Man (or Woman) speaking as by me confessing my wounds it is somehow a threat or discredits the wounds of another gender. I need to live in a world where I can say “I am hurting” without someone else taking offence to it as if I didn’t see their pain. There are not enough years in my life to speak to every individuals anguish, that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel, see and ache for each one of them.
I need to live in a world where it is okay to excavate the history of which may cause some to feel discomfort.

I need Feminism because I am only now in my late twenties coming to realize that which has been done to Females – having it barely touched upon in public schooling.
Only in this last year I learned that the classical period of witch hunts in Europe and Colonial North American ran from 1450 to 1750; resulting in an estimated 100,000 executions. Thats over 300 years, for some perspective in the realms of time – Canada it’s self isn’t even 150 years old yet.
I learned also that Woman who were in connection by blood or friendship to any accused witch were sought out, tortured, and in turn often also accused of sharing that same “sin”.
As such Woman stopped connecting to each other, they severed their friendships, their deep feminine bonds, for fear of their own lives.
This is something I know now is still very much a prominent wounding in our society. Women are just learning that it’s okay to not be small, and that it’s okay to try and reclaim the understanding of Sisterhood that we were robbed of so long ago.

And again, this has nothing to do with men, nor does it hold any threat. In-fact in a world where women were not trying to find their Mothers, Sisters, or Female connections through their spouses or brothers – Imagine the profound lightening of the burdensome load that shame, guilt and constant failure Men experience.

I cannot even fathom the worlds vast expression and beauty if the Feminine as a whole felt safe to be allowed in it. The Feminine laying in both Men and Woman alike – what could our world be if there wasn’t a constant war ground situated inside of our psyches and our collective consciousness.
Feminism is not Anti Masculine. It is the Feminine’s attempt to rebuild and meet the Masculine in their unified power. Beyond the individual crisis there is so much more of the story that needs to be adhered to.

I love Men very much, I am learning to Love Woman as I should have been taught by the Women that came before me – at no fault of their own, they too were withheld that same Human right. In learning to Love Woman, I will be a better Lover of Men. And vice versa.
Feminism is the recovery of what it could look like to live in a world that Loves without Fear.

One day, we may not need Feminism anymore. One day we may be able to see each others beauty as it is without the prewritten stories of gender or weakness. But that day is not today.
– AC

“There can be no Peace on Earth as long as there is War in Love.” – Dieter Duhm

Art Credit: http://fav.me/d9n93u1

Musings on the continued pilgrimage of Responsible Freedom in Love

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Through out my exploration through life I have personally been practicing various forums of ethical (ish) pre-scripted forms of non monogamy since 2008 – I have struggled with self doubt, self hatred, a lack of support, violent rebellion, self inflicted exile and deep grief in the loss of a sense of self that followed.
My attempts at being Polyamorous were founded on the same broken concept at my attempts at being Monogamous – ill-fitted scripted narratives and a lack of community.
So just as I was a failed monogamist, I became a failed polyamorist.

I had to loose everything and become what I felt was completely broken in 2011 to understand that I needed to restructure and rebuild something unparalleled and unprecedented – custom to my timeline, my desires and the community of which I so deeply felt called to nourish. I needed to be broken to see the reality of what endurance could lead to – a loyalty to love, a reestablished idea of devotion, and a strength in my story – and what would later become an intertwined shared story.

My deepest desire in the willingness to share my life and this so called “alternative” form of relation is to encourage the expression and excavation of personal and cultural truth. To lead by example not the front lines of Non-Monogamy – but a world postpoly/postmono where Humans are emboldened to practice Love in the model of which that is truest for them in their “now”.
I desire a time where whether we love or share a partnership with one, two, many or none that we’re encouraged to be in relationships that are in service to something outside of just the relationship it’s self – abolishing the deep underbelly of escapism via interpersonal connection.
I crave collective where your worth as an individual is not put in to question on account of being different – but in fact a culture where diversity fuels it’s flourishing advance.
I long for a world where sensual/creative/emotional/intellectual/passionate connection isn’t shamed or subject to a warped sense of guilt laden secrecy; where it’s encouraged to flow naturally as it unfolds, as opposed to attempting to shove it into a narrative that outdates it’s unique rise, expansion and evolution.

My Core partnership is not under any sort of strain or onslaught by these choices to live a life which asks our upmost allegiance to honesty. Neither him or I has a limited or finite source of adoration, so in all logic any perceived “threat” is only rooted in the echo of a time where a binary form of relation was the only one taught – an old story of love to which no longer fits the times we are in. This does not mean there is no jealousy or fall backs into the stories that we grew up in. Our relationship has not always been been an easy adventure, and it will not suddenly become as such – nor would I want it to.
Partnership, Love and Relationships take skillfulness, and skillfulness generally requires trial and error.
Regardless of and in correlation to that I have never lived a more fulfilling and awe inducing Partnership, our ability to challenge each other, encourage growth, and continue on in the form that best serves us and our community leaves me in a constant grateful state of deep love for all that is him and I.
Beyond “Good” and “Bad” – Every dark and light moment has been crucial to our process of becoming.

“I said to the sun, ‘Tell me about the big bang.’ The sun said, ‘it hurts to become.”

I want so vehemently to live a life of authentic love, fierce devotion and continued progression that dares others to live their truth, to fully examine their and their kin’s desires, boundaries and the full spectrum of their psyche – to demonstrate a courageous form of love and community that includes all walks of life: the unabashed and multifarious gamut of humanness.
Perhaps we are radical dreamers, but if I have learned anything thus far I have learned that we sure as hell are not alone on this untrodden journey into fearless brazen amorousness.

I dare you to be truthful, authentic and responsible in your Love – with each and every individual that you hold with sweet regard – I dare you to fully exist in service to the morphogenic field of adoration of which surrounds you.

I dare you to pontificate on what it would look like to have your life’s actions be collectively in service to love.

– AppleCat

Ponderings from the essential shadow

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I’ve been exploring through my thoughts on the experiences and pain that many of us share – yet seem to continue thinking are completely individual to each other.
I’ve been sifting through on my own ordeals of doing that exact same thing – my previous refusal to release the sovereignty of trauma. As if it was the only that actually made me special.
So if not the individual, where does it come from?

The disregard and nonchalance that our society bequeaths upon those openly experiencing loneliness, depression and acts of self-harm is abhorrent.
It’s so much more than a cry for help or attention – it’s a deep festering cultural wound that touches us all. Perhaps thats why we are so reluctant to talk about it without smothering it with medicinal bandaids and pillow talk of “Shhh it’ll all be okay”. It’s a shameful trigger that something has befallen upon us so vehemently that it has come to this level of extremity.

After copious years of it’s prominence this has become learned behaviour. Passed down through generations. It’s very much developed in to genetic and environmental trauma.
This is far too big to be swept under the rug of demanded and addictive positive thought.
It’s not a coincidence that in a world devoid of elders, initiation and community guidance 1 in 12 of youth teeter towards suicidal thoughts and acts of self harm…. of which generally starts around puberty.

Myself included. For over 10+ years, starting at age 12 – and still only the brave and some (not me) would call crass ask me where all my scars came from. And thats just the ones on the outside.
Yet when the people who suffer speak up they are instantly met with dehumanization, condescending coddling and made to feel like an infectious pariah. The majority at large do not want to be reminded of their shadow, their perceived failures and even more so want nothing to do with that which reminds them of their mortality; especially death.
I made it out of the deepest depths, mostly. Many others did not and will not. Something has to change – like now. You know it, I know it – and it’s doable; but not in conjunction with the continuous ignorant acts of peremptory blind-sightedness.

We are all here together floating in space, hurting, loving, feeling, longing and creating – If we want to heal ourselves individually it’s time we start to comprehend what it means to truly heal as a collective first. To support each other, regardless of the fearfulness that surrounds us, regardless of the mirrors that it provides. We need to heal this together.

(and as a life long advocate of extreme independence that’s a damn hard thing for me to say – IE “I was wrong, this can not be done alone”)

Ponderings from the essential shadows of Humanity

To be continued….

The Ache

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Why have we strayed so far away from our roots to find some facsimile of so called “home”?

I have inklings of memory: memory of lost love, and dust; memory of battles and words I don’t understand but still feel. I remember, I’ve always remembered.

Modern blood lines; and blurred borders; unsavoury connections, and disheartening observations. All connected to surface level descendants – my own disdain for living lineages; an eschew of comfortably strayed spiritually stunted children. Rejecting the idea of tribal law, generations of memory traded for stucco siding and a manicured flower garden. Handicap by choice, because a life of feigned ignorance is an easy life.

I abhor not the people but the aspects of society that twisted the warrior within myself towards such disapprobation. How could I be a guardian to anyone with such contempt for the present?
Those who have hurt she who moulded me, she who gave me life, she of whom I want always to protect. I -within the constrains of my audacious hero syndrome- hold such an deep and unexpressed anger towards them. But I have come to understand that it is she that has hurt herself more than anyone else – for that’s all she was ever taught.
– these broken ones have unpurposefully bruised and tarnished my bond to what once was (old lang syne). Hands in the air, Nose up, and lip curled I refused their fear of living.

Although- sometimes, I do this with far too much adolescent attitude. This upheaval has to end.
I am connected to all, and I enjoy educating myself in worldly theology, fable and history; understanding its correlation to lands far from each-other’s conscious reach. Finding comfort in our shared stories.
But why stray so far? Why purposefully embrace so much, but only taste the scent of where my parentage was birthed? The foundation of my ambiguous DNA.
My loyalty lays not within my given family, but with the one I found; my alliance is with the lushness of the world; and pride lays deep in my blood.
So far back in to where I see in my dreams; the myth and narrative that the ancestors hum in to my ear, trickling down my fingers, tickling and intoxicating my tongue.

“LISTEN” they say, “LOOK” they plead.

I am neither here, nor there. Too far ahead and too far back; blessed now with tangible anchors, to the world I adore. My rebellion suddenly with a cause. My feet suddenly more grounded than ever. How terrifying.

We are all indigenous to somewhere, they whisper to me. But where? and why doesn’t it seem matter like it should on the surface to everyone else – could they truly believe themselves to be a cause so lost that it isn’t worth an excavation?

Don’t you feel the pang from those and that of which has been left behind, the ache of hunger in your chest for something more? The longing for something real, something that tells us we belong.

I feel it.

The whorl of actuality

the_mind__s_child_by_jbsc-d31jzu1Penetrating concepts
&
permeating words
“maladjustment” they said
But – I know better; these compulsions
are the most fabulous of accessory
voracious evening musings

Life,
This is what you do to me.

These basal fleshcrafts soar too slow
for us radical dreamers
instead
we ride hard and swift on the back of thought
into the nethermost depths
of story: our interwreathen universes

An abstract hypothesis? Indeed. Well worth a few lifetimes to fully perceive
All for the Adventure, it wouldn’t be worth a damn without it.

AppleCat Confessions: Not a Never Nude

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I’ve gotten to the point in my life that when I’m threatened with “leaked nudes” I just kind of giggle.

Oh damn.
Some people might find out…. that under my clothes, I’m naked! (all the time, every single time I wear clothes!). And they also might find out that – on occasion I feel sexy and perhaps sometimes I like to share that (noting now that yes a long while back with less deserving folks).
People might be find out I am a fan of all of my bits, poetic creative brains, big fat heart, and all the pinkish olive bits of my physique that make up an anatomy.

Every atom, nipple, follicle, soft curve and sharp angle.
Let me tell you, living in this world – that is not an easy thing to achieve. Even now my appreciation wavers on occasion.
In previous years I was at war with myself – tearing my body to shreds -both metaphorically and literally- I stood on the front lines of the battle field that was me. There was no glory to be won.

As it stands, I will never run for any sort of Congress.
I am okay with this as when the shit hits the fan, I’ve been practicing my Queening of a Post Apocalyptic world skills for pretty much my whole life.
And when I am Queen nudity -in all it’s forms- as long as everyone involved is consenting will be celebrated; not used a tool of shame or control.

If you like to be naked this does not discredit you as an Artist, a Business person, or a Human being.

Every single body has it’s beauty. It is art, how cool for you, to be a walking, talking, living piece of art. That is something pretty special.
So yes, I confess. Sometimes I am naked. It’s true, at least once or twice a day.

So
Be nude if you like, sometimes i like to be; sometimes I don’t – you’re the only one that should ever control your own nudity.
Dance nude if you like, in front of others, by yourself, for monetary gain or just for fun – you’re the only person who should have any say in whether this is right or wrong
Document your nudity if you like, to share with others if they desire as such, or just for you to look back upon when you’re 80 and think
“Hell Yeah Younger me, thats a fine *insert body part of choice here” – You’re the primary owner, distributer and handler to your own body and no one else’s.

Treat it as Sacred, as it is your Temple, the Altar to your Soul – the flesh of which houses you – any person that comes rapping at it’s front door should be so lucky as to be welcomed in for sanctuary.

No shame, no fear, only love. Such is the way.

#mindbomb #NotANeverNude #Truth #Pride #Survivor