Hey Dear Zodiac Balance,

Some might have been quite the sell_out girl or green_eyed about it, anyhow the Stranger decided some posts were meant to be done as a conversation of sorts. So reviewing old entries from once before, Dyslexic as he is, the Stranger still tried…

Postmodernputa provided the anthem and I provided the answer. It was quite simple back then to fall or was it simply a matter of having more words then? Maybe love is really in the blog or blog is in the love – whatever it is, we simply unfolded ourselves like blankets that were meant for warmness.

__________________________________________________________

The Story of O
shoulders, bodyscapes, neck
[info]fullview
September 6th, 2006
Current Mood:
ecstatic ecstatic
Man’s mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions.
– Oliver Wendell Holmes

(a comment from: [info]postmodernputa)
So now Postmodernputa and Fullview Artaud are walking around an empty college campus. The world is still, save for the two of them. Now Postmodernputa feels differently. Something has changed. She turns to him and says, “I want to let go really not make love.” Her eyes shine with tears.

Fullview Artaud stops in his tracks. He is as always full of wisdom, as he has found a way to break through to the other side, to hell and back, so he says, “When the Pussy embraces the Dick, it actually does not hold on its entirety, but rather has to let go — lubricate itself for an actual totality of merging.”

She bursts into tears, the fabric of her twisted quote-unquote love fraying. All that is beautiful seems lost. Grace — and in fact Madeline L’Engle calls it kything — has escaped her very being. Swimming in the many clusters in her head, all the romantic projections and memories of the agony and the ecstacy of what she once thought was quote-unquote love shatters into a million tiny pieces, like that of her broken heart.

“Babe, come, there is a time for letting go,” Fullview Artaud tells her. “Keeping in. Wanting. Not wanting. But all of it is simply being you.”

Postmodernputa contemplates succumbing into numbness. Perhaps she should just stop feeling altogether.

Fullview Artaud reads her mind, and to her he says, “No that’s why I told you, just watch them [these feelings]. Let them flow. Like watching a movie. Be enraptured but still disconnected.”

His voice fractured the night, the rustling of the leaves and the crickets chirping. Dawn is breaking. The morning sun, Postmodernputa awaits.

And then suddenly she soars.

Nobody would have understood what passed through her heart, the sudden surge, the spark that rekindled the flame, the reasons she created a new sky.

She soared.

Prophet, speak to me of SEX.

The Visions started coming, the Doors of Perception opened, revealing:

* Sex as Truth
-When open we dare not filter, we are naked, vulnerable. Societal programmings, expectations dissolve in the intimation. Often we choose our words, find distractions and sugar-coat our real Selves. How many garments do we attach ourselves with? Find security in the hidden erection, the dried-up wetness between our thighs, support an illusions – a made-up reality that never was.

* A Lesson in Acceptance
It is folly to approach sex in singularity. Truth chooses no favorites but rests its heart in universality. Often our partners are projections of our ideals, the best turn-ons are a mental construct of dreams plus fantasies, resting on security. It is in acceptance and openness that we allow our physicality to turn liquid and merge with our souls – to become Spirit. Sex is the great equalizer.

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