I’d Rather Not be a Goddess

We sometimes talk about being ‘goddesses’ and ‘standing in our feminine,’ in a way that denotes the inferiority of the masculine, but the truth is, in each human whether they are born female or male, both these energies exist.  Not one is superior to the other, and the need for one or the other varies with time.  For instance, when I was going through a tough time, I wanted to surround myself with feminine energy, but at some point when there was too much around me, I found it stifling.  I love a man who is comfortable with the feminine, but I also find a man who stands just a bit too close in my space with red hot masculinity extremely sexy, especially if I know that he doesn’t do it with everything in a skirt.

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I read this piece ages ago about dating a yoga goddess.  It’s really great for the self-esteem, but on the other hand, who’s to say that a Yoga Goddess is any different from a Prada Goddess.  Sure, if you’re a yoga girl, then dating someone who loves his drink and lives on steaks might just leave a lot to be desired when it comes to finding a place you both enjoy.  And if you love being outdoors and he loves his TV, then it might not garner much conversation time.  Incompatible bed times make things difficult if you’re asleep by 9:30pm and he’s not up until 11:00am and if one of you feels somehow that the other is not as enlightened/smart/anything will just cause imbalance in the relationship.

My friend Karen-Anne digs deeper into philosophy with her answer to the article mentioned above, and I agree with her: http://flyingdragonyogis.com.au/2013/12/04/self-awareness-for-goddesses/.  Just because we use different terms (cleanse instead of diet, divine masculine instead of man), doesn’t make us totally different than the average Jane.

Something about calling myself a ‘goddess’ and sending invitations to the ‘divine masculine’ just doesn’t speak to me.  It might work for some. And some people, in relationship want to be adored.  It’s great in small doses, but I would rather be loved than put on a pedestal as some great ideal.  Why would you want to see yourself as superior to the person you’re dating?  Why would you want him to think that he’s not enough?  Sure you might be the better planner while he’s the one with more physical strength, and he might be more analytic while you’re more intuitive, but not one trait is better than the other.  Then there are some things that you love doing together; cooking, going to the beach, watching movies, whatever.  Sometimes you will annoy each other but that’s not because you’re a Goddess while he’s a dud.  It’s just because you don’t agree on everything, and that’s a good thing.

At the end of the day, I want to be with someone who I can talk to, laugh with and play with.  He could work in the creative field or the technical field, be a martial artist, Crossfitter or Yogi.  It is important however, that he finds joy in what he does like I find joy in what I do.  He could come from any background, as long as he has a good relationship with his family.  Occasionally I will challenge him, and he will challenge me, and we will motivate each other.  Our differences will be just as important as the things we have in common.  Sometimes things will get tough, but a lasting relationship is when you choose to stay instead of go. Some people use the principal non-attachment as a reason not to commit, and sure, if you don’t get attached, you won’t get hurt, but that bit of attachment can also feed into the effort put into the relationship.  More than the job, family background or whatever, is who he is as a person, and in anything of this nature, there is that something that nobody can put a finger on, that from the outside might not make sense, but somehow just feels right.

The practice of yoga is a journey in finding your path.  If it feels right for you, then go ahead and be a floating Gypsy but if what sits dear in your heart is finding a place to land and build, then it makes you no less ‘Yoga Goddess,’ or a ‘Divine Masculine’.  Some just want to be free, others want to have another someone, and others want to have children.  Not one is better than the other.

It took more than two whole years of being completely alone but now I know that I want to land.  Casual, fleeting flings might leave a lot of freedom, but it is just not for me.  The only time I want to be a Goddess is when he is right there with me being a God.  Other than that, I want to be able to take off any masks (because it is only human nature that we wear them sometimes) along with my shoes, not be judged for having pizza if I feel like it, and occasionally not have to do anything but sit on the couch together.  I would want that underlying friendship which allows me the freedom to be unabashedly me.

As much as the Goddess energy is within everyone, I would rather not feel like I have to be some semi-fictional ideal.

 

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Dive In

It’s been a while since I last wrote something for you.  Two weeks of movement – dynamic energy, fire, flight. When the world moves quickly like that, it’s easy to lose track of where the heart is and what it needs.  But as the world usually does, it allows time to land, a time to negotiate with the discomfort of slowing things down.  The discomfort of not knowing what comes next once you have cast your intentions out to the ether.

Another full moon comes.  Another phase of life ends.  Perhaps it is just time, but no ending should go un-mourned, no part of life let go without being honoured.    There was a certain emptiness before, but it was an emptiness that invited an exploration.  It was, in essence, a space to allow the lotus to bloom into its full glory, to marvel at the majesty of a beauty that grew from the mud.

And now, the lotus has bloomed so it is time to move into a new realm.

There is a sense of unfamiliar familiarity with this realm.  You’ve been here before, but not in the same way.  I have been here too, but not with you.  Yet, I have, you have, and we have – from lifetimes before, in different manifestations.  I was the person who smiled at you as a child, only to then run away.  You were the person I knew in my youth when I was lost, and you were as lost as I was.  Yet, you were not, I was not, and we were not.  Nothing has changed between then and now, and yet, everything has changed.  We have changed.  Many lifetimes have passed within this one incarnation.

Your heart, as it beats, is new to me, yet it is not.

My body and its movements are familiar to you, but it is still a strange new animal.

We have spoken of the same things before in different ways, with different people.  Here we come, sharing that same past with each other, but with different eyes than we had before.

Maybe it is because we have grown.

Or maybe it is because we have still some growing to do, with each other this time.

Empires have crumbled so that new ones can rise.  What different are we, the people who have had lives before this?

We have had lives where we have grown and crumbled, lives where we have each danced in the ecstasy of love and mourned within the despair of loss.  In these lives we have known the highest high and the lowest low.  In these lives we have known anger and loss, loneliness and desire. We have each learned our lessons of who we are up to this point and here we come together because something bigger than we are said that we should.

And now, what do we do?

You can run. I can hide.  We can bury it all deep under the surface and never look at it.  We can distance ourselves from this discomfort and nothing will change.

Or we can take a bit of silence to honour that journey which has brought us to this place.

And then perhaps it is time…

Time to believe in a bit of magic.

Time to have a bit of faith.

Time to find a bit of courage.

Time to just take a deep breath, and as gently as possible, soften, surrender…

Dive in.

Picture from Costa Rica Arts

Picture from Costa Rica Arts

This man and me – A story of a father and daughter

This man is a part of my life. Even when he’s not physically here, he’s here.  We have a special relationship that transcends all logic and matter. This man is my hero, but he is also my destroyer.  This man makes me strong, but he can also be my weakness.  This man knows how to hurt me, and I him, and along the way, we have both hurt each other and ourselves along with the other. This man makes me want to fly, but he can also bring me crashing to the ground. There is no separating this man and me.  I call this man Papa.

This is not a good story, or a bad story, it is just our story.

It is the age old story of fathers and daughters, and how sometimes fathers don’t realise the effect they have on their daughters.

It is the story of my father and I.

This is part of the story that has made me who I am.

We’re too alike, but also very different.  When we fight, it’s like a big explosion, and when we’re good, it’s like we’re in a bubble, just him and me.  He can make me glow like no other, but he can also make me cry like no other.  He was always the more affectionate parent, and in my late teens, he’d still walk down the street with an arm around my shoulder, and I’d still sit in his lap. When I think of him, he is always the life of the party.  He is the kind of man who draws attention to him, and in fact thrives on that attention.  One of my earlier memories is of a party at our family home, with his friends all over the place, and that big abomination of a beer tap bar thing that he had.  We always had so much beer!

Just before I turned 7, life got really complicated.  So began the years and years when my father would be there a moment, and gone the next.  So began the years, when my mother came undone.  But, as I told a friend, you have to grow up some time, and 7 is as good an age as any.  It was a whirlwind. For long stretches I wouldn’t see him as he was busy with his life and then when it suited him, he would show up, and I would light up.  For the longest time, I felt that he was the colour of my world and when he was gone, everything was grey.  I remember bits and pieces. It was a difficult time which I remember in bits.  One of the things that stood out from that time was bumping into him at a chemist with my very pregnant stepmother.  That was how I knew I was going to be a sister.

That was when I realised that I was no longer a part of his family.

I was confused.

I had gone from being his princess to the person who looked in on the life that he had built. My stepmother wanted no part of me in it and he didn’t really try to give me a place in that life either.  For years this was the story. He would be away when he was happy and he would come back when things didn’t go right, when he was sick, when he was jobless, when his marriage fell apart.  He came like a force of nature, uprooting us from the routine we built, then he was gone, and we had to build our lives all over again.

On my 21st birthday, I found out (from my grandmother) that he had another family in Indonesia that he had not told me about and the anger that I had built for 16 years took over.  I stopped taking his calls, refused to see him, and didn’t talk to him.  It was not that I had stopped loving him. My love for him lived through the anger and pain, but I needed time to heal. I needed time to find myself in a place where I was not constantly waiting. Waiting for him to come home and then waiting for him to leave.  I got engaged, I broke it off, moved to another country and still I didn’t feel that I was strong enough to speak to him without letting him take over my life all over again.

The year I turned 30, I called him.  We spoke, we cried and without even having to try, we became father and daughter again. He sent me photos of another family that I was not part of. At least this time I was allowed some part of my brother’s life, even if only by phone. In the last couple of years, we spoke as often as we could considering the distance.  When my grandmother passed, I was in my way, part of the grieving and papa spoke to my mother when he went back for the funeral.  His main concern apparently, was how after all the years in university I had decided to become a yoga teacher and event manager. He didn’t understand it, but he was supportive anyway.

My baby brother knows a different man than the one I knew growing up.  He might not realise this now, but among all of papa’s children, he was the one who had him around for the longest time.  He didn’t know the papa who used to dance and sing along with Dan Hill.  He didn’t know the papa who would walk into any restaurant and charm the waitresses with his sense of humour or the papa who loved the fast life in a casino. He never knew papa when he was wearing suits and standing in the limelight.

The relationship between a father and a daughter is so very special. Even after 10 years of no contact, it didn’t take very much for us to fix ours.  A father makes all the difference, either by being present or absent.  For a long time, I would love unavailable men because that was what I thought love was like. Me, waiting, always waiting for him to part the clouds and shine his light on me for but a little while, and to that girl I was, that tiny bit of light would illuminate my life for days. He might have had moments where he thought I didn’t love him enough. The truth was that I loved him so much that at times I felt that it was only when he shone his light on me that I existed. I lost my center with him because when he was around, he was my center.

On the 29th of January 2013, my father passed away.

All the things we had talked about in the last few years will never happen. He won’t ever visit me or eat my cooking again. We will not hug, hold hands, or watch stupid comedies together again.  His lame dad jokes are gone forever.  He won’t give me away in marriage and if I ever have children, the only thing they will know about their grandfather is from the stories I will tell them.

My father, born in the year of the dragon, left us in the year of the dragon.

He had faults and he had virtues.  He was my father, but he was also just a man.  He made me laugh and he made me cry. He was the one with the romantic gestures, who would send flowers for birthdays and wouldn’t be embarrassed by public displays of affection.  He would text or call just to say, “I love you,” and he might never have known it, but it made all the difference to me knowing that even though he didn’t understand why I chose this path in life, he loved me anyway.  He was my hero even when he was sitting around in his sarong a singlet.  There were good times and there were tough times. There were times when I’d think he wasn’t listening and I’d ramble on, only to find later that he’d leaked the information to my mum, the time I got (yet another) piercing while on his watch and my mum was angry at him for months, our little singalongs, the little jokes we share.  Every time I hear Deep Purple’s, Soldier of Fortune I think of him.

At the end, I hope he knew that he was loved and that he will be remembered.

And the last thing I said to him?

Well, I said what I always said at the end of our conversations, “I love you papa,” and he said, “I love you too girl.”

Papa

The Journey Home

The concept of home is one that has eluded me for a long time.  When my mother thinks of a piece of land or a state as home, I don’t understand it.  Although I understand the concept of a ‘home’ country in my head, I don’t understand it in my heart.  That idea of home being a place to land, a place that is safe where I could be my complete self and be loved for all of me is seemed only available where my maternal grandmother was.  Once she passed on, no physical structure or piece of land was that place for me anymore.

Growing up, I would visit the states where my parents came from and try so very hard to feel that sense of connection and belonging that I had heard about.  Both sides would say that I was too much like the other and too alien to them, and I suppose, having inherited my father’s illogical exuberance and growing up with my mother’s practicality, alien was what I was.  Still I tried, getting into relationships with people who knew that concept of home.  Sadly, these relationships made me feel even less like I belonged, and the harder I tried to fit in, the more lost I felt.

Through this entire period however, I would have occasional instances where I did feel that feeling of being able to let my heart rest, and just be me, accepted in all my facets – sitting in a mosque alone on a rainy day, visiting my grandmother’s grave, sitting in my room after yet another fight with my (then) fiancé, and just driving around aimlessly with the music blasting.  However, I wanted more! I wanted to feel that way with people, about people, about a place, about something! I dreamt about falling in love and knowing, just knowing, that I was finally home.

So like any other practical person, I left my family, the country I was born and grew up in, and the friends I had known since childhood.  All in the quest of finding a place to call home.

I won’t recount it all here but it has been a long road, filled with emotional adventures.  Amazing memories have been made, beautiful friends, phenomenal broken hearts, humbling experiences, laughter, tears… you know, the usual things you see on a journey.  I fell in love, and for a while thought that I’d found home, but home is a place that holds you as you change no matter how, and the kind of change I was going through didn’t turn out to be the right kind.

Then something unexpected happened.  Anyone who has seen me run (with or without heels), or attempt to throw a ball knows that anything physical apart from a night on the dance floor is really not my thing.  Somehow, however, flying through this life, I landed on a yoga mat. Ok, ok, I admit it wasn’t the first time… but it was the first time I stayed.

So journey continues, amazing friends (I really have been blessed to heaven and back in the friend arena), great, make that awesome hugs, amazing conversations (definitely not easy ones), more laughter (sometimes to dissipate the horror of core cultivation) and more tears (fucking hip openers, one hand on the back heart and there it goes) … and then, just silence.  In the silence things started happening, and I found myself exploring what was in it.

Almost four years later, I’m still on the yoga mat, still exploring the movement, and the silence.  Life has changed in leaps and bounds (oh man how life has changed).  It’s like layers have been peeled off, and I am discovering more of me all the time, and the thing is, I will continue to change.

But did I find home?

Well, not in the way that I thought I would.  Although I still dream of it sometimes, home didn’t turn out being the fully equipped kitchen, beautiful bath, two cats (Bruce and Selina) or yard with the vegetable patch and a German Sheppard named Butch as I’d imagined.  It isn’t a country or a piece of land.  It didn’t even turn out being a man.

I know you think I’m going to say that my yoga mat is home, but it really isn’t.

My yoga mat and practice were the tools that took me home.

Follow the road...

Follow the road…

But home really is just wherever I am, feeling safe, centered and present.  It’s the moments in the morning when the sunlight streams in, watching a sleeping cat, holding a baby, lying on the grass staring at the sky, listening to music as I wander along the city, walking in the rain, sitting in meditation.  It’s the peace in the chaos, and the chaos of my thoughts in the silence. It’s the book that I am currently reading, the movie I’m watching and of course, it is being on the mat breathing with loved ones and strangers alike.

Home is in the places where I can accept all of me without trying too hard and without judgment, and knowing, just knowing, that I am whole as I am.

Detaching from Non-Attachment

For a while after my last relationship ended, I gave this whole non-attachment thing a go.

On the one hand, I get it.  Imagine being so attached to the outcome of getting into a full split that you literally split your hamstring at the seams, or me being so attached to the number of ‘likes’ I get to my blog that it loses all essence of me.  On a larger scale it could be getting so attached to the idea of “success” that you shut down your conscience.   Then there is the classic – changing who you are for the outcome of making a relationship last (been there, done that, still learning).

The lotus symbolizes non-attachment in some religions in Asia owing to its ability to soar over the muddy waters and produce an immaculate flower.

The lotus symbolizes non-attachment in some religions in Asia owing to its ability to soar over the muddy waters and produce an immaculate flower.

There is the other side of it though.  In order to become a monk, one must let go of all attachments.  This is not limited to iPods, apartments and cars.  These amazing individuals renounce EVERYTHING – their names, their families, and the thought of ever building a home with someone. Even outside the monastery, there are people who have adopted this philosophy of non- attachment – moving fluidly from place to place and relationship to relationship.  Hey, if it suits them, why not?

However, after trying it out, I wonder if it isn’t, in essence, a cop out.  What is falling in love if not allowing yourself to get attached to some degree? Allowing yourself to want another in your life for a certain period of time? This is not just limited to romantic love. It could be love for anything or anyone. Some people feel things like this strongly.  When they put their roots down, it grounds so deep into the earth that replanting would mean snipping off some parts of themselves.  When they love, they love fully, no holding back.  For such people, perhaps not getting attached in the first place is more a matter of self preservation.

Imagine falling in love with no holding back.  One moment you would be this solid entity and the next you would dissolve into the relationship you were in. Or finding a book you love, letting yourself just dive in, characters becoming real for you and for a few days, just disappearing into the story.  Fabulous isn’t it?

Unfortunately, being this also means that when you cry it is with abandon. Yours are not the pretty tears that can come and go in a second. In fact, you often need to make sure that you are alone when you are sad as it takes over you and you need a few days to get through it.

Compared to all that, non-attachment is the much safer option.

Then I remember what it was like to fall in love, and what it was like to even think about building a future with someone, dreaming, imagining.  The connections I made to friends and families.  And I think about the end of the relationships I had in my life – The sadness, the anger, the tears that flowed for days.  How everything broke open and left me a gaping wound.

And you know what?

I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Sure I am working on how to preserve myself a little more than I used to.  My mentor Mel keeps reminding me to hold my heart in a little bit because if I don’t I’ll end up breaking my back, both physically and energetically.  This is especially as a yoga teacher where putting my heart out there would just leave me an exhausted mess, no good for anyone in the long run.

However, it was the range of emotions that I have gone through that have given my life meaning.  It is the beautiful sunshine, radiance of light, heavy storms, winter cold and everything in between that has made me grow.  Even though severing roots hurt like hell, every time I rooted down, I was touching someone and making a connection that in turn, made my life more.  Total non-attachment to me is like living in a safe greenhouse while being connected is like being out in the elements, living life to its full range.

Although some of the people in my past were not worth it, my own growth was worth every bit of pain.  Every tear cried, every time my heart shattered into a million pieces, they made me more of me as much as the happy laughter and hugs.  So although I will continue working on holding on to my personal space, I do so with intention to allow myself the space for healthy attachment and connection because otherwise, what use would teaching and touching be?

What will you choose?

Being Loved

In my past I always felt so alone. Even when I was with family, I never truly felt like I belonged.  Through the years I had constructed layer upon layer of walls that I held up with a vengeance.  I wondered why I dated men who were emotionally unavailable.  You know the kind, the ones who can’t be your Superman when your psycho Lois Lane is falling off a building. In this case, the building of your sanity.  I associated with people who I had to always support, people who always had some form of drama.  Sharing my feelings was a foreign concept to me, and most of the time, I didn’t have the words for them.  I still don’t sometimes, but that’s OK.  Somehow, I had locked my heart up in a kryptonite box, behind a reinforced steel door, threw away the key, built a brick wall, dug a moat around it and placed piranhas in the water for good measure.  Every so often I would lower the drawbridge and let someone in, but they always stood behind the locked door.

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The last couple of years however, things had started to change.  Maybe it was me, or maybe I was just lucky to meet a group of the most supportive people, but I had slowly began to open up, both personally, and in my writing.  A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a bare all piece on my journey with celibacy: https://azphoenix.wordpress.com/2013/01/23/act-of-celibacy/, right before I went off and taught a class.  It was one of the most confronting things that I have done in a long time.  For one thing, publishing my innermost thoughts online, and for another, standing in front of people who I knew for a fact had read those innermost thoughts.  It was fucking scary, but in a strange way, being this vulnerable has also made me feel very connected to those around me.

Then my father passed away.  Now, he is a story that I will write when I am ready.

It was what has happened since that has surprised me.

Having lived alone for about seven years now, I am used to licking my own wounds and getting on with it.  In fact, I learned to get on with it at a very young age.  There was always someone else to take care of.  The things we get used to.  A lot of times, they can be detrimental to our own health, acting out of habit than need. And in the long run, the stuff we push down just bubbles up like larva and destroys what’s closest.  This time, I was completely ready to handle my business, spend a few days in my pajamas with a few boxes of tissue paper, and then wipe it all clean and get back to life.

Something unexpected happened.  Upon hearing the news, two of my dear friends took immediate action. Mandy brought her 35 day old baby and a pint of gelato over, and gave me a distraction by way of placing the cutest little bundle in my arms to cuddle.  Meriana came around after work, took me to the beach (in my pajama bottoms no less) and then proceeded to get me groceries.  A few days later, my teacher Ingrid just held me while I completely broke down. This is not counting the phone calls, the messages of condolence and the hugs that I have been receiving for the past week.   I swear, I have left a trail of tear stains over many a shoulder and my yoga mat will never be the same again.

In the world around not much has changed.  It keeps turning as it was.  Sydney traffic is still crazy and public transport can be unreliable, and people are still rushing everywhere.  What has changed however, is me.  Somehow, somewhere between the meditation and the asana, I am finding myself, and that is leading me to be able to share myself.  I am a lot more vulnerable than I was, but I am also so much more part of something bigger.  The people I have in my life make me feel blessed, like the heavens were somehow looking out for me, but more than that, even though I am alone in the modern sense of the word (as in single), I am so very loved.

And that’s just it, isn’t it? Being loved is not necessarily about the Instagram photos of your dates or the gifts that you’ve received from your ‘perfect’ partner.  It’s not about how your popularity means that you always have someone to go out with on the weekend. And it sure as hell not about how some dude wants to jump your bones whenever you see them.  Instead, it’s about the ability to just be vulnerable and to know that you are supported in these times.

A big thank you to the people I have in my life now.  To me, having you has made all the difference.

Edited by fellow word warrior – Carolyn Eccles, http://lovewhatitloves.wordpress.com/

The Intimacy of Celibacy

Over a year ago, I made the conscious decision to be celibate.  This meant no physical anything with anyone, so no pashing and definitely nothing beyond that.  When I first tell people this, the responses I get vary greatly.  Some have looked at me incredulously with the question, “why?” Some have lectured me on how I am fighting natural human urges, and therefore not taking care of my needs, while others, mostly close friends, have been very supportive of the decision.  In a world where more is always better, I made the decision to go with less.

Flowers by Opulent Garden: http://opulentgarden.com.au/

Why am I doing it?

Well, in the last 10 years, I had had one four year relationship, followed two weeks after it ended with a one year fling, then a couple of years and flings in between, followed by a three year relationship. Having not had much time alone at all, I felt that in the midst of major life changes, it was right that I take some time alone.  What’s physical intimacy got to do with it you say?  Well, that’s the thing.  Physical intimacy, without actual intimacy, to me, is pointless. In a casual encounter, most of the time, you’d be off your face anyway and would be less likely to remember the thing. It’s just mutual masturbation.  And at least on your own, there’s none of the morning after (or just after) awkwardness.

As I delve deeper into my yoga studies, I have also come to believe that we are as much spiritual, intellectual, emotional and energetic beings as we are physical beings.  And that sex or any sort of intimate physical activity is a sharing of energy.  This act in part was to acknowledge the fact that yes, I had given away my energy to people who had left me in an emotional draught after, and also to show myself some respect. You know that feeling when you meet someone you’re attracted to in your beer goggles, and you make out in a club or wherever, but when you go home, there’s not only a hangover but an inexplicable emptiness as well?  Worse still if it ends up becoming more than a quick pash.  Well, I’d decided that the short term high was not worth it anymore.

Unfortunately, making a big decision like this, and being completely determined to keep it, does require some life changes.  For one thing, drugs are a complete no-go now.  Not even a puff of weed have I taken in at least 18 months.  For another thing, no longer do my weekends consist of two nights in a pub, drinking myself silly, followed by spending the entire weekend in bed with a hangover.  In fact, my whole social life has had a revamp.  Strangely enough, giving up physical intimacy has fostered other types of intimacy.  No longer being able to hide behind alcohol and loud music, my socializing options have evolved into long walks and beach outings, hours of brunch and coffee (well tea in my case), the occasional glass of wine and beautiful dinners, all of which require a substantial amount of conversation.  If I am attracted to a guy now, I can’t go into default ‘get drunk and pash’ mode… I actually have to talk to him.

In a world where feminism and equality means that women can do anything men can do, including having random sex, this act of mine might go against the grain.  However, what are feminism and equality if not giving me the freedom to make my own choices.  I have been lucky to have the support of my very feminist mentor, Dr. Heather Moritz through this.  Her pure shakti essence, humour and often unique outlook on the world has definitely had an impact of my life, and have helped me hold my own in this controversial decision of mine.  Ironic how what I’m doing now is seen as different when as little as thirty years ago, someone who did the opposite was pretty much ostracized.  Goes to prove that you should just do what feels right for you at any given time.

Looking around, I see a lot of sex, but not enough intimacy.  To me, it is not intimacy unless there is vulnerability on a level that is other than physical. And for me personally, I have had long stretches of time where my physical self has been disconnected from my emotional, mental, spiritual and energetic self.  This for me, has been an exercise in starting to align all the different layers of what makes me, me.  It has been a chance to regroup and re-gather. My yoga practice has grown.  And on days when I am so present, lying down in shavasana at complete peace, feeling sweat drip off my skin; the mental, emotional, physical and spiritual satisfaction has been greater than any I have had previously.  In this place, I am complete.

It’s not that I’ve stopped shaving my legs.  In fact, through this period, I have learned to take care of my body even more.  It is this living, breathing being full of sensuous possibility. It comes with expressive spirit, intellect, and most of all, a heart. Now I know that sharing myself with someone who can’t appreciate all that, or is not in touch with all that in themselves would be a cop out on my end.  And no, I’m not missing out on anything because on my own, I am complete anyway.

A year on, I am still on this journey.  Although I had an online dating account for a bit once the year was up, but I rethought the whole thing and found it too contrived and forced. It’s gone now.  Dear Michael (the number of times Michael is mentioned, you’d know I’d be lost without him.  The man really is my Master Yoda) asked me how I would let the universe know that I am open to it, and my answer was, “the universe will know anyway.  It’s only a matter of me being ready for it.”