February 23, 2009

making love while listening at level three

Sex is a very special, intimate, and precious gift when engaged in with someone you love. It's an expression, a declaration, a sharing, a beautiful flow between two people. It's a discovery of self in the moment through two hearts beating as one, two bodies melting one into the other.

After reading a blog entry posted by Rori Raye on havetherelationshipyouwant.com about listening at level three, inspiration struck. This would be something lovely if not profoundly spiritual to try while making love, something that might deepen and further expand something that has seemingly limitless potential for exploration, of bodily sensations, inside and out, of the heart, of the soul.

I've already been going in that direction anyway. The more I have been releasing, letting go, opening myself to myself as well as to my beloved, the more I have been able to feel physically and emotionally, some of it very painful, except when making love, and some of it exquisite as when making love. Every touch, every vibration, every sensation continues to become more so, more nuanced, more intense, just more. Imagine the possibilities of making love while listening at level three.

There are three ways sex can begin for me, with fieriness, electricity coursing through me or gently as a slow build up, or sometimes it can be a blending of the two, but always in the beginning I'm very much into myself, the sensations welling within my body. I am acutely aware of his touch wherever it might be, on my face, his lips against mine, hand caressing hair, body, breasts, waist, back, hips, thighs.

Every inch of flesh tingles, some places more than others, all of it delicious. My heart opens and swells as do my female parts. Sometimes I become highly aroused quickly; other times it's a quieter rise; sometimes I just feel relaxed. I would call this listening at level one.

I then open my eyes to take him in, include him. I see his sparkling eyes, his sensuous smile, his lust, his desire, his love, his energy butting up against mine.

I allow him to see me, all of me, my feminine figure, my arousal, my excited anticipation, my joy, my heart as much as it will reveal itself in this moment. This would be listening at level two.

I close my eyes again and expand my senses beyond us. I feel textures, the sheets brushing against our forms, pillows cradling heads and limbs, the air surrounding us, enveloping us, breathing life into us. I feel the flickering candlelight warming us, making silky, shadowy shapes against our hearts.

I expand farther still to the world outside, all that Mother Nature has to offer, gentle breezes, soft aromas, the pulse of the universe. Yet I'm still very much in my body feeling all that I can feel, every trembling, every oscillation, every beat. And I'm still very much in connection with him, feeling all that he feels, feeling all that he emits and gives me through his skin, his member, his spirit, his heart.

As much as I'm able, I'm allowing all that is to enter me, fill me up, enhance what my being creates, as she surrenders to herself, to her man, to life, to love, moving in a sweet, symbiotic dance. This is making love while listening at level three.

February 20, 2009

remembering to choose

As I awoke this morning wrapped in my beloved's arms, the familiar, almost ever present feeling of sadness tinged with negativity and anxiety wafted gently through me. Though these feelings have abated greatly, they linger still. They plague me however slight the feeling may be, and this makes me feel...well, sad. "Am I destined to be unhappy always, the artist in angst? Is this what drives me? Does this get in my way?" flashed through my little brain. In the same burst of illumination I understood that it most definitely interferes.

It became a part of me early, likely as a survival mechanism, a protection. It has kept me "safe", free of the fear of hurt, but it has also kept the good stuff at bay. Ironically it creates much the same hurt it's meant to shelter me from. Whether it be from lack of unconditional love or life beating me down over and over so that I numbed out, gave in, or whether it be a habit socially imposed or self-created, does it really matter?

Sadness may always be inside, and this is okay. This I can live with, thrive on, but need it be the greater part of me? Need it smother me? Can I use it instead to enhance the love I have in my heart, the love I was born with, the love we are all born as?

As I lay there taking in his wonderful, comforting smell, the one that turns me on, yet in this moment it was soothing me, calming me, as I nestled there knowing how fortunate I am, for it's not that I'm unaware, unappreciative, ungrateful, I wondered if I could simply choose, choose to feel good all over, inside and out.

This man clearly loves and adores me, is so turned on by me, passionate about me, yet I'm not letting him in, not really. I'm not fully submerging in this moment which is such a special, beautiful one. I'm not allowing myself to be nourished. I'm not allowing my heart and soul to expose themselves completely. I'm allowing my fears, my habits to supersede. How awful is that? How silly is that?

He's right here, delighted to love me. The healing waters are right here bathing me, through his heart, through my heart. What if I simply choose to feel his love, my love in this moment? What if I choose to feel happy right now?

Instantly my body relaxed. The tensions, the holdings I feel so much of the time grabbing at my heart melted, just like that. My energy shifted. I suddenly felt him, every little bit of him, his soft skin radiating warmth, his heart glowing with love and peace. My heart swelled at the same time. In that moment I was utterly and completely open, receiving.

Each time I tighten inside and close the curtains around my heart, each time I guard myself, each time a bad thought creeps in, each time a gremlin voice screams at me or just whispers, I can remember this experience. I have the power to change my habitual patterns. I have the power to choose.