(of all the shiny things at the gem shop, this is what I truly coveted... coyote skeleton)
Alex and I were laughing hysterically in the shower the other day, talking about love and afterlife and the idea that our souls will always find a way to each other to do the nasty, like an explosive mingling of wild eternal mana. My kind of devotion.
It's a profound thing to realize you love someone in a way that words just feel inadequate, and I found myself unexpectedly in tears thinking about the finality of our time on this earth together. It's not nearly long enough, even from a glass half full perspective. I want more. I need forever.
Hense, our sacred pact of never ending spirit sex ;)
I think I am just wired for down and dirty connection. Intimacy is my language... to see and be seen in a way that is messy and life-affirnming. It's in the marrow and beneath the pretty, that everything feels the most meaningful to me. I need the friction of to-the-bone vulnerability in order to grow and feel alive. This sort of thing seems to keep coming up in conversations with those who really know me.
Then this post came across my sky, thanks to my friend and favorite tattooed sea hag, Nina....
"I want to be a sea-hag. Not a mermaid. I want to be with the thieves, not the new day gypsies. I want to be in the dive bar, not at Whole Foods. I want messy plastic altars not shiny stained glass windows.
I’m tired of all the sparkly trendy things. I want realness. I want the depths. The unglamorous. Dirty real."
My kind of tea party. I totally need to crash.