Enough Meat Pies

January 21st, 2009 by Celeste

Enough Meat Pies

Visiting Australia. My host family has a special deal with the bakery. Every week they pick up the extras from the last couple of days. Lovely fresh artisan bread that didn’t sell, rolls, danishes, and the classic Australian meat pie.

All those are weaknesses of mine, though I rarely eat them at home. So of course, here I’ve fulfilled my fantasy. Heck, why pass up a danish if you don’t know where your next one will come from?

Until last night. Suddenly, without any warning, I have simply had enough.

It’s a rare thing, enough. I remember 20 some years ago on the gulf coast of Louisiana (my homeland) we bought shrimp fresh off the boat for 50 cents a pound. Boil ‘em up, strain the water out and pile ‘em onto the picnic table. And I mean pile. A pile a foot high. That’s a lotta shrimp.

Before that time, shrimp had been somewhat self-rationed due to availability. Not this time. I ate shrimp until I just plain did not want any more. That day has completely changed my relationship to shrimp. I still love it, still order it, but I am no longer worried or bothered by the quantity. The quality matters more now, any quantity is fine with me.

Another time, I had a patient on the table (back in my holistic health care days) and part of the neuro-integration  we were doing included rubbing his ears. (lots of meridian connections there). It usually takes a couple of minutes and I told him to tell me when it was enough.

10 minutes later he said, half-heartedly, ‘I guess that’s enough’.

‘Are you sure?’ I said. ‘You’d don’t sound very convinced’.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘It seems like that should be enough.’

‘You get as much as you need. You decide.’

‘Well then, can I keep going?’

We did – for 35 more minutes. It was a first for me – that much time.

More recently, I led a woman through an experience of being completely in charge of how she was touched. Nothing would be done except exactly what she asked for, no more. I stood at her feet for 45 minutes while she considered, until she had enough of non-touch, and asked for my hands on her feet. 45 minutes. That was another eye opener for me.

How many times had she allowed herself to be touched before she was ready, had she ever had enough of non-touching, enough of how it feels to actually have a choice with no pressure? She told me later that the experience was life-changing for her.

So enough. It seems there is some kind of enough-ness switch inside the brain. It may be shrimp, it may be ear rubbing, it may be non-touch, but there is something completely healing about getting all the way to it.

Getting enough of anything, any one thing, seems to touch it somehow. It’s as if, until we reach it as adults, maybe we don’t really believe it’s there. But I have come to see that it can be reached, with care and agreement and a sense of exploring, and it changes things.

So enough meat pies for me, enough cream danishes. I will likely have another some day, but it is different now. There is no longer a scarcity and I will enjoy it when I choose it, and that will be fine.

This morning it was back to apples and cheese.


Posted in just life, Deep Thoughts || 1 Comment

Such a simple thing

December 16th, 2008 by Celeste

Why do we stumble over such a simple thing?

Yes, no, each one gets a choice, all the time. Why should that be so hard?

Why do we question whether we have the right to choose – that any reason is enough, that any reason, or no discernable reason, is deserving of respect?

For me, I know – because when I have said no, or something like it, people don’t like it – get hurt, get mad, accuse me of this or that, whine, complain or quit. It takes guts to set a limit. I will go this far and no farther. You may come this far and no farther. This space belongs to me and is subject to my choice, period.

This other space, this space we share, is different. But the reason we share it is because I, and you, have made the choice to share it. Still a choice. And the only way to share it is to each of us choose every moment what is right for us.

This has been my path and my struggle for the last handful of years. Which is why I teach it so passionately.

Where do we get this? I am more convinced that yes, our families, sometimes well meaning and sometimes violent, have taught us this. But not just the ‘bad’ ones, either. Each person who walks in my door, and myself, have our own ways of apologizing for our choices, desires, limits. After all, if I were really nice, and good, I would need nothing for myself, not even limits. I no longer believe that it is just my own weird burden or quirk. Once I am aware of it, I see it everywhere.

I tell you, I am sick to the death of it. Sick of it. Sick of it in me, sick of it in those I would love to be closer to.

Now I am in the midst of some kind of shake up / break up of a close relationship of 28 years. I have noticed that my limits have gradually changed over the years, as they should, and they are not pleasing to the other person.

I am reminded that love is not the same as relationship. I will love this person until I die, there is no question about it. But the relationship must change, is changing, may not survive. I am no longer willing to tolerate some of what she dishes out. It is time for me to step out of the line of fire. She does not like the changes, which creates more fire, which reminds me why it is no longer an option for me.

Even with our children, we have to draw limits. This one has grown up, and I have to recognize it is no longer my job to stand through everything. It hurts.


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Cleaning out the closet

December 4th, 2008 by Celeste

Not sure why it’s so hard to write these days. Too much is happening, on too many levels. Changes in my personal life, my professional life, my inner life.

I came home from the weekend and started cleaning out the closets. Well, I actually only have one, so it’s cleaning out the closet. I carry three big boxes to the Goodwill. One a box of assorted goofy lingerie that I used to use for costumes, for slumber parties, stuff that no one would want to wear for real, not even me. The classic was a strapless bra made of a sort of plastic-y foam like substance, big pastel flowers like the 70’s – God, it was funny to wear it those few times that I did. Now it will hide in someone else’s closet.

Another box of only slightly less strange stuff I thought I would wear for some session sometime, but never do. Out you go. The truth is I love dressing up, but it really takes someone to appreciate it. Next time I need a box of strange stuff I’ll have to head back to the Goodwill again.

Today I did get to wear the bright red velvet bra that I talked my friend out of last year when she wore it over a t-shirt as part of a super woman costume. Oh – and I did add this one on my last trip to the Goodwill – a black satin jacket that says ‘valet parking’. I’m waiting for the chance to wear it with - nothing else. Well, black boots maybe.

Cleaning out the closets always signals cleaning out the psyche for me. Outside reflects the inside.

Some things I’ve noticed – a belief that I am not allowed to be happy if anyone around me is not, that being happy around others who are not is just plain mean.

Well that’s a swell choice, isn’t it?

And a correlate that telling the truth is not welcome. It doesn’t have to be mean truth, just me saying what’s true about me – just not ok or good for other people. I mean, look how they never like it. Look how many times I have disappointed.

No wonder I have had the feeling that relationship costs me so much. And how much pain have I caused by not being willing to disappoint, not wanting to cause pain. Shit.

So I clean out the closets. Old plastic bras, old beliefs.

Some years ago, I came home one day and started packing up to move. I didn’t realize I was ready to move in with my lover until I noticed myself packing. A few months later, we did.

Now I have lived alone for a year and half, and have no idea what comes next except that something is about to change. I clean out the closet, organize a few files drawers, get rid of half my books, re-format the spare hard drive, and the real kicker – clean out underneath the bathroom sink. Egad. This is serious.

Something is about to change.


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30 cocks

November 24th, 2008 by Celeste

30 cocks in the room, and nary a one for me to grab. It’s a pity. Not that there were a few that would have welcomed it, but, which ones? Best not to find out by trial and error.

I was dancing yesterday, ecstatic dance, big room full of people moving every which way, free-form expression, sometimes sensuous, sometimes wild, sometimes playful. And right in the midst of it I suddenly noticed that I loved that there were men there. Loved it! Loved them! Loved seeing them, seeing their shoulders, their backs, their butts, their legs, seeing them move and turn and jump and sway. Wanting to reach out and put my hand around a nice package just for the joy of the celebration of it. What a wonderful thing it is!

Kind of like some hard-wired primate excitement and impulse. Took me by surprise and I just kept laughing at myself for the thought of it, dancing harder for the restraint from actually doing it.

And I remembered back to the days, years ago, when I was beginning to explore these realms, and did learn to celebrate my body, their bodies, women’s bodies, men’s bodies, in every shape and form. When we did indeed dance and prance and play and hold a nice package or two or three. That it was all in celebration, not for any attempt to get anywhere or get some sex. These bodies are quite fabulous, and quite fun. Dancing miracles, they are.

Tonight a friend comes over for a massage trade. Perhaps he will let me play.


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The Panther

November 9th, 2008 by Celeste

Another poem from my friend, the Christian mystic –

Whore VIII: The Panther

I

“Ooooo,,, Don’t you just love that panther head?” sighed the tourist.
I look on the wall where the beaded head hung.
The jaguar could have just walked in from the Mexican jungle outside.
I’ve been that panther, inside my lover, passing my passion.
“Oh, honey,” I thought, “you need me bad.”

II

“Relax,” said my whore. “You’re tense when you come.
Your wife ever tell you that?”
“My wife’s eyes are always closed. She wouldn’t know.
I am that panther when I come.”
She smiled, “Pat him on the head and tell him to be a good kitty.”

III

She ran her hands up my belly to my chest
And down my legs to my toes,
Calling my aura to manifest
Itself in a thick blanket of energy.
Her fingers asked for entrance to my male vagina –
That engenders shit instead of life –
And it pulled her in of its own accord,
Eager for her ministrations.

IV

Her other hand adored my dick.
She coo’d sweet nothings to
The Male for creativity and
Energy and action,
For heat and fecundity and passion.
She petted his head, praised him for being soft and yet hard,
For giving so much pleasure and receiving so little.
Waves of grace overcame me
Pulsing through the energy.
Like a woman, I was lost in my pleasure.
The panther nuzzled my neck,
Turned, and walked back into the jungle.


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Skills? Who needs ‘em?

October 27th, 2008 by Celeste

What the fucking bullshit.

So the guy inquires at my website, which states clearly what the rules of engagement are – that we have a phone consult and that we meet in person for a conversation, at a clearly specified dollar amount, and so on.

Wants to know, via email, whether I will do such and such. Well, not exactly. Has many complex fantasies, some strange. Doesn’t say what they are, so who the hell knows how strange they really are. Some people think a vanilla 3-some is wild and strange. Hell, some people think making noise while you fuck is strange. Others think electrical prods, gagging, suspension bondage and peeing on each other are pretty ordinary.

Strange. Ok dude, whatever.

So we talk. He mentions age play (one or both pretending to be another age). He has never talked to anyone about this before, much less played with it, and never talked to a professional. He is concerned that I can not guarantee him that he will get his fantasies satisfied. Even though he has not told me what they are.

Says it’s risky spending this much money without knowing.

And how the hell are you going to know? Like I am going to say yes, I will do xyz – to a stranger on the internet who is – first of all, no telling who he is really. Second of all, I am going to agree to illegal activity? on email?!?!

However, after our talk, he emails some more. I explain some things about fantasy, about the importance of acceptance and that I take people through certain skills before we jump in.

Then he writes back – I don’t want to learn skills, I just want to play.

Holy shit. Wake up people.

If you don’t know that there even ARE any skills involved in fantasy play – then you sure as hell don’t have them!!

And if you are worried that you may risk spending your money and not getting there fast enough, then grow up!

This is in reality the hardest part – well maybe not – but at least the most aggravating part of this work.

You have NO CLUE what you don’t know. And I am supposed to show you what it is? Convince you that there does indeed exist some things you will need to be aware of to go any further?

Show up here ready to learn and have some humility about the fact, and we can get just about anywhere. Anywhere.

Try to convince me that there is nothing for you to learn – that is a crock of shit. What are you afraid of?

Get your butt in here and I can take you right to the edge of what you know, and what you are comfortable with, and it won’t take so awfully long, either. Of that I am confident.

If you are a beginner, then great, acknowledge there are things to learn that you are not yet aware of and that may not be explainable in a 10 minute phone call.

Don’t waste my time arguing with me about how much time it’s going to take you to learn the basics. There is no way in hell I can tell you. We have not even met for god’s sake!

And here is what chaps my butt (as my cowboy friend used to say).

What underlies this, I believe, is the assumption that everyone is somewhat like you. If we are going to learn algebra, it should take 12 weeks of 6 class hours blah-dy blah.

Do you not realize that some people can not yet add and subtract? Do you not realize that not everyone is like you?

And you expect me to be able to say it will take this long to get this skill and this long to get that one?

I don’t even know yet if you can feel anything below your neck. A concept that is likely completely foreign to you.

So skills? Yes, there are some. If you want them, you’ll have to admit that there are some you don’t have.

If you don’t know they exist, you sure as hell don’t have them and we sure as hell are not going into the potentially dangerous territory of dark fantasy without them. And if you don’t know that there is any potential danger in dark fantasy play, you SURE as hell don’t have them!!

And if you can’t handle either of those, get out of the way of others who do.


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Breaking open

October 16th, 2008 by Celeste

Peaches in the summer,
Apples in the fall,
If I can’t have you all the time
Then I’ll have none at all.

Gillian Welch, folk singer. Though the song is probably older – soldier’s joy (which was morphine, in the civil war)

I notice that I have just finished the last of the fresh peaches I bought when crossing the mountains a couple of weeks ago. The trees continue to turn.

Yesterday, on my way through the park, there were suddenly in front of me two that were almost completely bare. Skeletons showing.

Something about those skeletons ripped right into my heart and I burst into tears.

There’s no accounting for what breaks your heart open, is there? It seems all you have to do is pay attention.


Posted in Deep Thoughts, Poetry || 1 Comment

Blaze of gold

October 8th, 2008 by Celeste

My heart is ripped open these days. I am all too aware of my own mortality, of my limits – that which I can not do and those things I will never do. My life is only one. It is not unlimited.

I am aware of the color of the leaves turning this month. Their first blushes of gold and red, how one branch will start before the others, one tree will be the first to turn, or the last.

The branches that were the first have long since turned, and the tree is now in the full blaze of gold, the tragic beauty before the leaves are gone and nothing remains but the skeleton.

I am aware that these sunny days are numbered. That soon this one day will be over, and this sunshine will give way to grey and cold.

I am aware that those I love will not last forever. That the love I love will not last forever either, belief to the contrary.

Yesterday I cried for missing you. I was a bitter heartbreak. Why, oh why, could it not work? Why could I not have what I longed to have with you? Why did I walk into this love without seeing this?

Today my tears are different. They are softer, and not bitter. They are good-byes, of sadness that it is over, of recognizing the sweetness that was a hope. What if there could be sadness without bitterness? This would be it. It is a great relief. We loved as well as we could.


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poetry from the hayloft

September 27th, 2008 by Celeste

This is from my friend who shared the hayloft with me those ages ago. (entry of 1-28-08)

The Kiss

When my lips touch yours
I am taken to a place that is so utterly unspeakable
Filled with the beauty of knowing that I have touched the Divine
And have been touched in return

My heart opens to new levels that it has never known
A blank canvas, unlimited potential
Uncharted territory, new horizons
With a song that is known by my Beloved

One who has touched the heavens with her soul
And has brought it back for me to hold
And as I take it in my hands
The song of this familiar one
reaches to the depths of my being.

And in the reaching, a stirring
And in the stirring, my heart melts
And all that had created separation dissolves
into the recognition of the oneness.

And as I awaken to this knowing
And allow myself to be carried away
On the wings of this one kiss
There is nothing more than this moment


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Cuttin’ the Rug

September 20th, 2008 by Celeste

Dang, can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun. And damn, fun is good! My body wakes up, and that does good things for my brain.

Willie Nelson gave me a hankerin’ for some country dancin’. (My daughter gave me a CD of him and his buddies doing live duets. Bonnie Raitt, Paul Simon, Emmy Lou Harris, Ray Charles even - his 70th birthday, and they rock out!!)

So I got there, to the bar, right on time. Unpretentious diner with a dance floor, but live country music every night (except the Thursday karaoke and the Sunday and Tuesday dance classes). The kind of place that looks like it serves grits. I love it.

Of course, I didn’t wait to start flirting. The bouncer’s a tall young fella, long pony tail, cowboy hat, friendly eyes. Good combination.

I asked if there would be plenty of people for me to dance with – Oh yeah, he says, they’ll be along shortly. Plenty. Big grin. Both of us.

He was right. My kind of crowd. Plain. No smoke. Enough old folks to keep it real. Not much costumery other that a few cowboy hats. And these folks Dance!

Each fella has his own style of leading. Some simpler, some fancy, some easier to follow than others. But sometimes there is a magical click when you fit together and move as one amazing, flowing, dancing creature.  His arms guide me and we swish, glide, spin, duck, turn, grin and laugh. My heart sings. This is the way I want to play the rest of my life.

Lead me! Spin me, turn me, dip me, I follow, give myself to you. Never knowing what is next. Each moment is brand new. I am in heaven.

And then there are the eyes of the bass player. I’ve learned that musicians who play for dancers often play to the dancers – becomes like a duet of sorts, each responding to the other. It’s a fabulous conversation.

(Back in the days of barefoot boogies to hand drums - as a dancer, I always thought I was dancing to the drummers, until one of them told me that once they get going, he follows the pace of the dancers and never stops until they do. He considers himself in service to us dancers.)

Kinda like love making, maybe?

So of course it wasn’t long til I was in love with the bass player and his eyes. I let myself fall in – lust is so delicious!! When he turns around, I look at his shoulders and fantasize getting my hands on them, getting right up to his back and grinding. Yep, that’s me, the middle-aged gal riding the thigh of bass player.

And that damned long guitar neck – that he plucks like there’s nothing to it - I’d heard they looked phallic, but they never had to me - until now. Ye–haww! I’m laughing out loud at myself.

So yes, we have a duet, the musicians and me. And the rest of us.

There’s the young kid sitting next to me who says – You sure can dance! – so I grab his hand and out we go. Not a leader, this one, so we jump around and laugh. And his buddy, who is more hip-hop than country, is surprised that I can meet him there, too.

And the woman my age who I invite out for a blues-y number. We get our hips going like no one but real grown up women can do. I wonder if she knows how fabulous she is. I wonder if she has any one in her life who sees it. We thank each other for the dance.

Damn, it’s good to have your blood running!

4 hours later, as they are packing up and the bartender is taking last call, the fella next to me says - I guess they gave out before you did.

Apparently! I say.

The night air is cool and soft, and I am still grinning.


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