abba abba. father. father

so sunday was fathers day. and i thought of my father. the men i have known. loved others. despised others.missed others. desired others.

coming from a society where holidays such as these are considered a trivality and waste of time. the passing of my father, while on the brink of the flowering of womanhood directly released a fresh breath of light and love. in his passing, i become alive. there was of course, the sadness and grieve, that death only brings. but in it, a nugget of love and truthfulness and embracing complexities.

"The way peacock feathers are made is from peacocks eating thorns. What a beautiful image, that the harsh things we have to digest can contribute to our beauty."
-- Marianne Williamson

is just recently, i have consciously embarked on wanting to know what exactly makes a man tick. what is his morophology besides the glistering phallus (literally and metaphorically). where are the dreams laid. fashioned with. where causes the tears and sadness. the laughter. what shapes are the fears cast on. do they have legs and arms. its illuminating what i have unearthed. i have met men who are worshippers of gaia (sigh). contemplators of the goddess. men who are tired of the imposed masculinity. men who are conscious of the priviledges of patriarchy. men who are sensual. and sexual. honors of the divine. fatherhood is more than the rearing of children. it is the parenting of others and ultimately of oneself.

thank you daddy.

and then there is the sex. this sounds rather odepidal. speaking of my father and sex in one breath. i'm almost thirty and it was until eh.. let me see.three years ago that i experienced the stirrings of 1812 overture in the hands (literally) of a turkish slash indian woman. ever since i can clearly now the correlation of pleasure, sensuality and levels of comfort. there was always the struggle of being woman loving and the mens. what to choose.

and years later, i feel im getting onto another page. its like been there done that. i desire something higher.

the poetic companionship that i sometimes almost obsessively crave for doesn't have to be male or female. rather one who gets it. whatever it may be. i have caught myself in numerous occassions wanting relationships to bear certain forms and colours. and directly, miss the lesson. and miss myself in the process. which sucks don't you think.

i no longer want to choose what sex. or gender. or even the desire for validation from the community.

and in celebration of all things pleasurabe. desirable. sensual. the divinty that comes with the intercourse ( intercursus, from Latin, act of running between. 2 : exchange especially of thoughts or feelings. communion. Latin communion. mutual participation. an act or instance of sharing of body and spirit).

i'll be getting one of those yoni piercings. + a butterfly tatoo.