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Talking Dirty with Earth

I'm walking in the greenbelt on this beautiful sunny spring day. The breeze whips crab apple, Texas barberry, and mountain laurel nectars into a deeply intoxicating aromatic melange. I come to a tree root that criss-crosses the path, holding soil back and forming a bit of a step. I draw a deep breath and speak my intention for the wander before crossing the threshold.

The whole day feels like a threshold. Daddy has gone to the Caribbean for vacation, a crammed week has come to a close, and a new one dawned -- the last full week before leaving for California for the first session of the yearlong soulcraft immersion with Animas Valley Institute. I feel a big pull to dig in and prepare, starting with this wander. A jar of menstrual blood sloshes in my backpack as I make my way down to the wash.

By the time I reach the flat trail that courts the river bed, I'm in my head. I can hope too much to accomplish something when I wander, which has a way of damming perceptual possibilities, so I can't listen for the next things to happen. I give up and take myself to a big flat rock and lie down, staring up at still empty branches and a bright blue sky, every so often split by butterfly. It is a good time to invoke wholeness. I speak kindly to myself, honoring all I've tended here in Texas, the healing work I undertook so bravely, compassionately, and from attunement rather than achievement. Yet no matter how devoted, a day-to-day life is a spell. It could take me a little while to break it, and to drop into the deeper trance of soul. And I am an apprentice to breaking and casting spells! It is a skill I wield, and on myself.

As I muse like this a fan of thin clouds diffuses through the sky, reaching out beyond branches that mirror the formation. Their shared structure astounds me, and I can feel my blood surging through the same branchlets in my own body. Right. My heart buds and flowers. A river empties into the sea of my pussy. It is not just me trying to fall under this spell, but Earth casting it. It is a mutual love affair, a sympathetic symbiotic seduction, a shared wanting. Mmmmm.

I wondered how Earth wants me. How, where, in what shape to receive this offering sloshing in my back pack? I filled the wash with my questions, not really seeking an answer, but rather expressing my devotion. Listening to myself, melting, I realize I'm talking dirty with the Earth.

I can feel your wanting, river, Mystery, mythos. I know you are thirsty for this offering, begging me, and all humans, to fall under your magic. So tell me how you want me. I am here to satisfy your desires, to play out your fantasies, to quench for a moment your thirst for more beauty, for more life. This is the tango you've always danced. Let me be the perfectly shaped pollinator to spread the lips of you, flower. Let me be the nectar you crave. How do you want me? How will you use me in your ever-evolving, always more complex, forever interrelating seeding of tomorrow? My voice deepened, slowed, moistened, the more I spoke. I whispered, wanting, as if into the ear I just tugged at with my teeth. Mmmmm. Reciprocal arousal.



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