Hypnagogia

Somedays I’m so tired that as I’m falling into bed, it feels like I’m falling into his arms. Perhaps a certain level of exhaustion does that to the human brain; makes it believe it’s in a different reality. Why it would do that, I’m not sure. Maybe so the transition to sleep after a hard day is seamless…to help let go…

…let go.

….I’m…

………..I’m…..

…I’m so safe inside his arms. So safe…

The world just disappears with one blink. In one blink, I’m inside his arms and safe. I could swear that I feel his warm breath on my neck. His fingers, ever so gingerly, toy with strands of my dark hair before sweeping them off my face. The sweetest of sweet kisses graces my cheek, just next to my ear. A sigh mixed with love, adoration, and relief escapes my body. In all my exhaustion, I somehow muster the strength to turn over to see him.

His beautiful face…it makes my heart swell to the point of overflowing. I’ve traced the lines of that face in my mind a thousand times just this week alone. Every time my lips touch his brow…cheek…jawline…nose…kisses deposited to the bank of my heart’s desire. I could never stop doing this. I never want to stop. Nothing matters if I can not lay even the smallest of kisses upon his beautiful face.

With a kiss comes the scent of him and his day: sunshine and mountains, coffeehouse meetings, running downtown to meet friends for a beer, or just farting around the house all day. All the things my day was not. He knows how tired I am. A chaste kiss on the lips is the unspoken voice that says to me:

“My love, it’s time to sleep. Tomorrow is another day and I’ll be here when you wake.”

As if I’m a rag doll, I find myself flipped over easily with strong arms and legs wrapped around me, nose nuzzled against my ear.

And I’m safe again. Happy to be in his arms. Wishing it could always be like this. If only I could hold onto this…

…If only…

……….If only….it were real…

Maybe this happens to me in waking dreams when I am exhausted so I do not fight the hope that burns inside me of what could be.

An Atrophied Love Muscle Works Out

It was hard figuring out where his body started and mine ended.

That’s how comfortable I was sleeping with him. His strong arms and legs wrapped around mine, bodies spooning perfectly. I didn’t want to leave. This…I could do every night. There was no promise of kisses. No “I’ll call you later” lies. No yearning for more than what I received or gave. In this one moment, it was pure and perfect. As if it were the last good beer I’d ever drink, each moment like a sip to savor, to put into my memory to last me a lifetime. The way he smelled, the curve of his nose, the softness of his skin mixed with mosquito bites, the weight of his limbs on mine. Even the gray showing in his hair was endearing.

The best part: it was sensual not sexual.

It’s been along time since I felt safe in someone’s arms. He wasn’t going to try to feel me up. He wasn’t expecting me to give him head. Sex was not on the plate. It was pure unfettered cuddling. It made me feel like I was 4 years old again. I rode my bike away feeling happy, elated, and with a great sense that everything was perfect in the world. I sang songs and did a little bike dance

It was better than sex.

Hard to believe, I know. It’s been mystifying me. I’ve been asking myself a lot of questions in the past 2 months about love, but this cuddling moment has brought up the most interesting one.

How does a person realize they forgot how to love?

After so much heartbreak, relationships, longing, even getting beaten down by disappointing dates, I didn’t realize how big the wall around my heart had grown. It’s almost as if every guy that has ever hit on me put one more brick in it, a little more mortar, until it became big enough for me to paint it all pretty with excuses and lies to myself so I wouldn’t notice it. Even a pretty wall is still a wall and I’ve been hiding my heart behind it.

I still show my friends and family love, but I’ve been noticing that has been limited too. Walls don’t discriminate. You can throw ropes over them, reach a hand over, set up a ladder, even jump to the other side for a while, but it’s still there. Until you take a sledgehammer to it, that wall will always be an obstacle. It took a long time for the Berlin Wall to come down. So does one around a heart.

Realizing that I’ve forgotten how to love feels like the first good blow to my wall. It’s like looking to the other side through the chink I’ve made and seeing how beautiful it is. I’ve been remembering what love used to be for me, what it’s turned into, and what I’m going to do about my wall. This is what I came up with:

Love like I’m 4 years old.

Be innocent. Let go of the unnecessary. Observe my heart’s interest with wonder and joy. Be playful. Give and receive openly and honestly. Say “I love you” or “I like you” when I feel it. Laugh a lot. Be affectionate. Become best friends.

All these adult concepts in magazines about love and how to attract the right partner and what size your engagement ring should be and what size his penis should be….it’s all bullshit.

My best relationships have been the ones where I felt like a little kid. When I really look at them and how they ended, the reasons are all different but they all boil down to the same thing: Society (and/or hormones) got into my head, told me I was supposed to be an “adult”, and I obeyed. How sad is that?

What is even more sad is being afraid to express emotions of endearment. This one has messed with me for a long time especially in the past few boyfriends I’ve had. I’ve become so scared of my words being taken the wrong way I stopped saying the “I love you[s]”. Well…except after a few drinks, which my friends can attest to. When those words somehow escape my vocal cords to run amuck in the real world, they seem to play havoc with the other person’s emotions due to my lack of using the biggest of those 3, love. Most people will say they love a band, a kitchen utensil, a pet, a TV show, whatever, but I don’t unless I really do. I can say I LOVE DeVotchka. They really are my favorite band. Everything else I just like. If you ever hear me say after a few drinks “I love you” it doesn’t mean I want to marry you and have babies. If I’m sober and saying it to you with that look of pure love, adoration, sincerity and wearing my heart on my sleeve then you can take it as “she’s in it”.

I would like to get back to the way 4-year olds say I love you. With openness, unafraid of how the other person is going to take it, completely honest, throwing it out there as a statement of affection with a smile on my face and laughter in my heart. Followed with a raspberry to the cheek.

Love shouldn’t feel heavy. It should make us feel lighter. It should make us laugh more. It should fill our hearts to the point of exploding but the cool thing is that they never do.

Love is the quintessence of renewable energy.

Break down your pretty walls. Be like a 4-year old. Say “I love you” with laughter and a smile. Be affectionate without strings attached. Sing at the top of your lungs.

Give your love muscle a good work out.

You might realize that it’s much stronger and resilient than you thought.

The Confessions of a Hopeful Romantic

“My dad left home when I was eight. You know what he said to me? Have fun, stay single. I was eight.” ~Steve from Singles

In 1992 when Singles hit movie theatres, I was a junior in high school. It’s still in my top 10 of movies I like to watch because I am a hopeful romantic and sometimes nostalgic as all hell. Pearl Jam holds a special place in my heart along with Mother Love Bone, singing the angst that many teenagers felt at that time. I wish I could take the teenage me aside and tell her all the things I’ve learned since:

  • Sex does not equal love. Sex is sex. Even if it’s mind-blowing it’s still just sex.
  • Don’t let go of you in a relationship. Nurture yourself and if the other person wants you to change, then they probably don’t have a clue who you actually are. And by change, I mean the person you are at the core. Everything else is just a habit that you can choose to change or not.
  • Communicate! Ask the hard questions and have the difficult discussions. Don’t hold it all in until you explode. That does no one any favors.
  • Recognize that we all change and if the person you love is growing away from you, SAY SOMETHING! Making the other person and yourself aware and mindful of what’s happening can actually save the relationship.
  • Good men are far and few, especially as you get older because you get pickier about what you actually want. Dating gets boring and tedious. At this point, I’d rather just hang out, find out what actually makes the man of my desires tick, and hope that on a random night of mischief and fun he gets the moxie after a few drinks to actually kiss me.
  • Be patient. Very patient.

Being single is nice…I get to work on my career, read books, hang out with friends, chase after my crazy ideas of travel and hobbies, figure out my own weird little psyche, watch movies that reinforce my hopeful romantic ways, ride my bike everywhere and anywhere…it’s a pretty good life.

But…

There are days I miss having a partner in crime. Someone to play with. Someone to love. Someone that can be balls to the wall fun and the next day spend it cuddling on the couch, watching movies or reading separate books or getting work done. I actually miss checking in with the other person about our social lives and where and when do we need to be somewhere or not. I miss looking across the room at my sweetie and melting a bit on the inside, especially when he notices I’m looking. I miss wanting to do little things to brighten his day. I miss watching him sleep and memorizing the lines and curves of his face. I miss wanting nothing more than to kiss his eye lids and snuggle my nose behind his ear so I can breathe him in. I miss meeting his parents and siblings (weird, I know). I miss the very specific give and receive that only happens in a loving relationship with someone who is your friend and lover.

I miss planning adventures with my heart’s desire.

BUT…

That doesn’t mean I’m going to settle for just anyone because I feel a twinge of loneliness every so often. My yeti, Nino, Largeman, Mr. E. Edward Grey…He’s out there somewhere. Maybe he’s patiently waiting for me to walk into his brewery, his favorite bar, pass him on the bike path or in the airport, or even for a mutual friend to introduce us. Maybe we already know each other but the timing isn’t right just yet. Maybe I’m just waiting for him to get divorced so he can start his life over again. Maybe he’s being chased by natives in the Congo for an old relic he took for archaeological study…

…so what if I fell in love with Indiana Jones as a kid?

I guess that’s my never-ending trend of my so-called ideal man.

  • Indiana Jones
  • Han Solo
  • Capt Jean-Luc Picard
  • Doctor Who (David Tennant…Oh, how I love thee)

Intelligent, charismatic travelers that have adventures. Renaissance men.

Because smart and playful are super sexy!

It used to be that I was waiting for my Doctor Who to show up and ask me to jump in his Tardis. After so much dating, perhaps I’m Doctor Who and instead of looking for a companion, I’m actually looking for another timelord. Or Rose…she was a bad ass!

SO, Mr Could-Be-Right, I challenge you to come out and play with me. Ride bikes with me. Climb trees. Tie a good one on some random night with me. Watch movies with me. Go backpacking through a national park with me. Let’s hit the symphony or check out the new exhibits at the art museum. Come to a kegger and play beer pong. Go to a lecture with me. Cuddle with me. Come out dancing. Make dinner with me. Inspire me.

In return, I’ll match your enthusiasm and go play with you on your turf.

I dare you….

I double dog dare you.

P.S. I love flowers, even if it’s stolen a dandelion off someone’s yard.

Beer, Sex and Travel: Part Two

Copyright Victor Sanchez Studios

“…’cause I’ve been with alot of bitches.”

As quoted from Pez, a gentleman I met at the Ginger Man in Northern Dallas while drinking a wonderful bourbon cask aged stout with Stuart, who I had high designs on shagging that night. Stuart was amazed by my knowledge of beer. I was amazed by his beautifully curly dirty blonde hair and his blue eyes.

I’m a sucker for blondes with blue eyes. Especially if they have curly hair. There is nothing like waking up in the morning, after shagging all night, to perfectly soft, curly hair to nuzzle in. It still puts a smile on my face, months later.

You might be wondering how I’m going to be writing about the taboo subject of sex without it turning into porn or dating advice. So am I!

I can tell you this: My idea is to write about sensuality. Sensuality is defined as the enjoyment, expression, or pursuit of physical, especially sexual, pleasure. Therefore, I shall write about pleasing my senses which at points will entail some stories of a more sexual nature. So if you can’t handle it, then don’t read those stories but be warned they usually get interlaced with the drinking of beer and the excitement of travel. They all go hand in hand.

I recently read The Passion of Mary Magdalen. As I read the last words, I realized that this was my ‘bible’. My sacred book. It described concepts I had lived most of my life and still do. It sings of much older days, when there were priestesses and temples that healed through sensuality. They helped create culture where there was none. They were leaders of commerce since caravans would stop at the temples and trade before they moved on to another destination. When women owned land and passed it down to their children with no help of a man. If you served in the temples for a short time before being married off, then you were a highly prized woman. It was a matriarchal society and it worked.

Of course the term used for such a woman is “sacred whore” or “sacred prostitute”. Unfortunately, I don’t have a temple, but I do think that I am a modern shadow of what these women were. If you were ever one of my lovers, you might just agree.

I have never shagged or even cuddled with someone that didn’t have a hidden god. By the term ‘hidden god’, I mean a man that has no clue how awesome he is. For some reason he just hasn’t reached his potential yet and by knowing him, even in the biblical sense, I feel I help to direct him to the man he could be. There is something beautiful (physically and mentally) about all of us. I like to think that one of my gifts is to see the beauty of each person. Of course, I don’t open my door to each person, just the ones that seem to oddly recognize what I am. Not sure what I’m talking about?

Have you ever met someone and had no clue why you needed to know them, you just did? There was just something about them, a twinkle in their eye, something they said, the way they walked into the room, that caught your attention and kept it?

That is the first transaction between sacred whore and hidden god. These roles are not specifically male or female. Sometimes the roles switch throughout the relationship. In any case, usually both parties learn a new lesson and walk away ‘healed’ in some way. Sometimes it takes time to see it, but it’s always there.

Sensuality, sex, shagging, spooning, sucking face in bathrooms…we’re all animals looking for a bit of attention, some good ‘ole positive touch that makes us feel like we’re not alone. That maybe, just maybe, we are lovable and wanted.

And some of us animals travel across the world to find it…