Open Mouth, Change Feet (to be continued)

30 minutes ago, I was in my nightshirt. In bed. With the heater on. And listening to Ian Anderson’s “Orchestral Jethro Tull.”

Now? 

Oh, now I am huddlied in a corner of an Irish style pub with a cup of Earl Grey and this laptop.

Err, why?

Was it about a boy?

Nope. No boys in whom I am interested will be in attendance that I am aware of – but you never know.

Was it to hear the live Irish jam tonight?

Nope.  Listening to the recording of Ian Anderson was suiting me quite nicely, thank you.

Well, then why?  Why did you get out of bed, get dressed again and drive half an hour to the pub?

Oh, that. Well, to write.

“OHHHhhhhh, of course!” some of you are saying.  “WHAT?!” others are wondering.

Well, it’s like this. I ran through how comfortable I was and all, and then wondered whether I had anything I wanted or needed to write about tonight, and I do. It’s a blog, a first draft, but here it goes.

I don’t know what combination of effects has me this way. I don’t know if I care, but it sometimes very much gets in my way that I am this way.

What way?

Well, I have a tendency to say what’s on my mind, sometimes everything that’s on my mind, to anyone who will listen, often to email lists. Sometimes I get my hand slapped for it. Sometimes more.

So, after a round of saying a bit too much for some people’s taste on a local events list -oh, what did I say?  

Well, that I was going to one of the Ds parties and was hoping to take someone with me. That alone was probably enough to trigger a few people.  But since I didn’t want to be misunderstood, and because I was fairly sure that almost none of the 800 people on this list really knew what a Ds party was like and had never been in a dungeon, I naturally gave more details. Some were personal, about me, so that whoever might want to go would know a little about me. Some were more about the club itself – what does and does not go on there.

To her credit, the list owner, simply wrote me privately asking why I gave so much detail. I think in the end she understood.

I followed that, as long as I was educating folks, with a note that we do have a fairly active local polyamory group and they give parties and workshops at times, too. I was also clear that I am not basically polyamorous.

Oddly, that’s where someone got triggered enough to reply to the list that she felt that was “disgusting” and it brought up some painful personal memories. Fortunately, in a way, a couple of people replied that that was her business and they couldn’t see censoring me on that basis.

Hmm, come to think of it, maybe I should find a sex list to chat on. Maybe. *sigh*

The point is that I get the idea that people don’t seem to want to hear what I have to say . . .  or something. I can’t really tell. Really. I mean, I know that my interests and what I’m willing to share goes far  beyond what most people will share in public (and some don’t even discuss sex and kink in private, with their own intimate partners, more is the pity.)

What I DON”T know is what to do about it.

Not talking about it, not writing about it does not seem to be an option. I am overflowing with it.

This blog is an outlet, yes, some, but I am not one who writes well into thin air. I’ve mentioned this before. When applying to grad schools, I called the department, discussed it with someone there and then mentally called them up as my audience when I wrote my essays for my application.

Do I have to be the center of attention? 

No, not always, but I do like it.

Am I trying to shock people? 

Not really. I’ve been accused of it. Sometimes I know it seems that way.

Do I think everyone needs to hear everything I have to say?  Or everything I think?

I’m sure sometimes I think that people “need” to hear what I have to say. So far, that’s the only one that has all that much charge for me. Although I am wiling to question all of them. It’s worth seeing what’s there.

This isn’t something anyone else can do for me – not that anything is. But other people’s ideas and stories about who I am, why I write, why I speak up, are unlikely to be my own.

*** this is the version I wrote in the pub.

At this point, I realized that my Next Step would be to do the work on the ideas above and whatever I might find beneath them, and that would take at least an hour, maybe three, and there was a fine Irish jam going on in the next room with some great eye candy moving their fingers at lightening speeds across their instruments and making pretty noises.

Time to pack up and play.

I actually got to sing a few notes and the bouzouki * player made a point to play a couple of things to which he knew I knew the chorus.

I was back in my warm bed by 11:30 pm. Zzzzzz

* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bouzouki

Sunday, November 22

I had a great day yesterday. Brunch was fantastic, 11 people. Fun. Then I read, ran a couple of errands, took a very very difficult walk – it was uphill and my calves were screaming in only a few steps. (Please refrain from telling me how that means I need to do it more – it’s obvious and annoying, especially to someone who probably has what they now call fibromyalgia.)

I eventually settled into bed to read, when I checked email and discovered that Nora was at the pub writing.

I checked – was it worth getting out of bed to go listen to the Irish jam?

Not when I had fine Ian Anderson playing in my ear.

I then checked – was it worth getting out of bed to meet boys?

There was at least one attractive guy there, whom I would love to be able to date, but we could both tell after one conversation that it would lead nowhere. There might be new ones. There would be new ones next week, too.

Finally, I wondered if it was worth getting out of bed to write.

To parody . . .

30 minutes later, Ann O’Johnson was out her front door and down to the pub writing at her laptop  – because at least her BLOG would care what she had to say, and she could start writing up the story of how no one seems to care what she has to say

To which her mother replied:  “Fascinating!”

Okay, her MOTHER cares what she has to say.

Thank you, Mother.

5 Minutes to Deep Peace on Thursday 9/13

You will be entertained at the very least and enlightenment is an option.

http://advancedmeditation.com/cmd.php?Clk=2095310

Thursday, 9/13, there is a teleconference call where you can learn more about this. There will be sample meditations and a chance at a free gift worth $400.

http://advancedmeditation.com/cmd.php?Clk=2095310 

Trust me. You want to try this. The IAM Meditations are the product of the fertile mind of Steven Sashen who is also responsible for much of the Shampoo Method we talk about here every day.

It’s completely safe. I’d trust this guy with my life.

This feeling, this is what we have all been looking for our whole lives. It’s like coming home.

Love, Ann  

Cowgirl Interlude – Hunting Girl & Jack-in-the-Green by Jethro Tull

Hunting Girl

One day I walked the road and crossed a field
  to go by where the hounds ran hard.
And on the master raced: behind the hunters chased
  to where the path was barred.
One fine young lady’s horse refused the fence to clear.
I unlocked the gate but she did wait until the pack had disappeared.

Crop handle carved in bone;
  sat high upon a throne of finest English leather.
The queen of all the pack,
  this joker raised his hat and talked about the weather.
All should be warned about this high born Hunting Girl.
She took this simple man’s downfall in hand;
  I raised the flag that she unfurled.

Boot leather flashing and spurnecks the size of my thumb.
This highborn hunter had tastes as strange as they come.
Unbridled passion: I took the bit in my teeth.
Her standing over — me on my knees underneath.

My lady, be discrete.
I must get to my feet and go back to the farm.
Whilst I appreciate you are no deviate,
  I might come to some harm.
I’m not inclined to acts refined, if that’s how it goes.
Oh, high born Hunting Girl,
  I’m just a normal low born so and so.

Jack-In-The-Green

Have you seen Jack-In-The-Green?
With his long tail hanging down.
He sits quietly under every tree —
  in the folds of his velvet gown.
He drinks from the empty acorn cup
  the dew that dawn sweetly bestows.
And taps his cane upon the ground —
  signals the snowdrops it’s time to grow.

It’s no fun being Jack-In-The-Green —
  no place to dance, no time for song.
He wears the colours of the summer soldier —
  carries the green flag all the winter long.

Jack, do you never sleep —
  does the green still run deep in your heart?
Or will these changing times,
  motorways, powerlines,
  keep us apart?
Well, I don’t think so —
  I saw some grass growing through the pavements today.

The rowan, the oak and the holly tree
  are the charges left for you to groom.
Each blade of grass whispers Jack-In-The-Green.
Oh Jack, please help me through my winter’s night.
And we are the berries on the holly tree.
Oh, the mistlethrush is coming.
Jack, put out the light.

Cowgirl Interlude – Farm on the Freeway by Jethro Tull

This one is for my mother on Mother’s Day. She’s been concerned about the environment since I was a child. 

It’s also for Mother Earth.

I’ll pose the question here that I sent to a local Science Fiction writers group:

Has anyone read (or written) the science fiction in which global warming turned out to be a Good Thing ™, ie the next obvious, logical step in evolution, not only of humans, but of the planet?

If not, why not?

Seems like that would be quite a story.

Love, Ann

Nine miles of two-strand topped with barbed wire
laid by the father for the son.
Good shelter down there on the valley floor,
down by where the sweet stream run.
Now they might give me compensation…
That’s not what I’m chasing. I was a rich man before yesterday.
Now, all I have got is a cheque and a pickup truck.
I left my farm on the freeway.

They’re busy building airports on the south side…
Silicon chip factory on the east.
And the big road’s pushing through along the valley floor.
Hot machine pouring six lanes at the very least.
Now, they say they gave me compensation…
That’s not what I’m chasing. I was a rich man before yesterday.
Now, all I have left is a broken-down pickup truck.
Looks like my farm is a freeway.

They forgot they told us what this old land was for.
Grow two tons the acre, boy, between the stones.
This was no Southfork, it was no Ponderosa.
But it was the place that I called home.
They say they gave me compensation…
That’s not what I’m chasing. I was a rich man before yesterday.
And what do I want with a million dollars and a pickup truck?
When I left my farm under the freeway. 

Beltane Celebration

“I wanted refuge, not chaos.

I wanted peace, not passion.

I was trapped in my little room of sanctity, in my meditative stillness and solitude.

This wasn’t true freedom. Nor was it love.

As Mykonos pointed out, I wasn’t penetrating the world

with my love and opening “her” into bliss.

Rather, I was pulling back. I was obsessed with myself.”

– David Deida, Wild Nights

 

Beltane, depending on whom you ask, is yesterday, today or even Saturday.

What is Beltane?

It is the holy day (holiday) of fertility . . . Holy Daze of Fertility, Batman!

Plain and simple.

Agriculural communities celebrated Spring and fertility, supposedly having mass orgies & dancing around Beltane fires in order to insure good crops (and probably because sex is just plain fun.) Rumor has it that couples handfasted for “a year and a day” at this time. I’d consider that. In fact, that was kind of what I have been looking for since December. On the other hand, maybe not. I am of at least two minds on that one.

Might as well be. We are not necessarily meant to be sane around this time of year.

Spring Fever? Rutting passions? You know.

May 1, the Full Moon or an astrological degree, that according to one site, is when the Pleiades is on the horizon, which seems to be Saturday and the markers I’ve found for the timing.

Good grief. See what happens when popes muck about with good agrarian timing?

I decided that Beltane is all week, through Sunday!

In fact, if I keep enjoying it as much as I have so far, I may just declare the whole month or even the whole year Beltane. Why not? It’s all pretty arbitrary.

I did Steven Sashen’s Goal-Free Goal Setting meditation last night on the “goal” of having someone intimate to talk to. I found someone a couple of months ago that totally lit that fire and then dropped out. I’m still smoldering. More than that, really.

He left me aching and hungry. I went into sexual abstinence, thinking that Qi Gong classes would support me in this. They did not. Not needing to do their 100 days, I decided not to spend half the summer in abstinence. I noticed that Beltane was coming up.

Beltane has many traditions, some may be New Age fluff, some may be vaguely real. Tom Robbins makes use of some of the Beltane ideas in one of my favorite books of all time, Jitterbug Perfume. Highly recommended reading. See Amazon for excerpts.

Here are some Beltane links for you, if you’re interested:

http://www.cyberwitch.com/wychwood/Temple/beltane.htm

 and http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Forum/7280/beltane.html

from  http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Forum/7280/ which has all the holy days.

You’ll find it on Wikipedia, too. 

So, here I am, ravenous as usual, and wondering what to do with myself (or with anyone else.)

“You know what it’s like to take the Great One

so far into you that there’s nothing left to do

but give it all up to the Lord, don’t you?

Maybe you’ve never done it.

But you know what it would be like.

You can feel it. You know you want it.

You want to be fucked into God, don’t you?

Do you know what I mean, ma?”

– David Deida, Wild Nights

This is what happens when I read David Deida. I stayed up reading almost half of Wild Nights last night. I had an orgasm, found myself thinking of someone I miss, cried, put the vibrator down and the phone rang.

First, Joy called. We’re arranging for me to visit her.

30 seconds later Sean called. He was going to go, but backed out, and is helping me make the trip.

30 seconds after that Taylor called. I hadn’t talked with him in a couple of weeks.

Nice to get what we ask for, isn’t it?

I tied up my conversation with Joy. I called Sean back. I told Taylor we could talk today at a more human hour. I was already an hour past my bedtime (sundown).

Now I’ve been up since sunrise (around 5:15 am), working out some of the details of several projects I need to get on with now that I’m done with some required bill paying activities that will hopefully leave me free for a month to do these other projects like teach, start a goddess center, work on the book this blog is writing and other fun stuff like that there.

Orgasms.

I have not yet had any orgasms this morning.

Why?

Well, I don’t know. I have this tendency to jump out of bed, do some busywork and email, then when all that is off my mind, at least an hour later, go back to the sheets for a while. My bath water is hot. Maybe I’ll play in there.

I think I’ll just leave you wondering.

Love, Ann

“What this world needs more of is loving:  friendly and unashamed.”

– Robert A. Heinlein
To Sail Beyond The Sunset

 

 “He is afraid to fuck. He is afraid to dance with the lady, ma.

He wants to stand back and watch, like a scientist.

He’s afraid to leave his room, to lose his purity

that he has worked so hard to attain.

He’s afraid to lose his precious stillness.

He’s afraid of the wildness of woman.

Everything has to be all tidy for him.

He wants the pussy, but he doesn’t want the slop.

He wants the tit, but not the tooth.

Oh, he is a good man, alright. Look at the light in his eyes.

The light has guided his entire life.

This boy might just make it.

But not until he learns to embrace the lady, ma.”

…

“And I’m not talking about him

wiggling his pecker in her pussy, you know?

I’m talking about the heart.”

– David Deida, Wild Nights

 

Ancient Holy Days

by Astrological Degree

0 degrees Aries  – Vernal Equinox
15 degrees Taurus – Beltane
0 degrees Cancer – Summer Solstice
15 degrees – Leo – Lammas
0 degrees Libra – Autumnal Equinox
15 degrees Scorpio Samhain
0 degrees Capricorn Winter Solstice
15 degrees Aquarius – Imbolc

 

Intensity

Intensity can mean a lot of things.

It can refer to something we see, hear, feel, smell or taste.

Intense red, intense music, intense feelings, intense incense, intense garlic.

It can refer to the experience itself or our interpretation of it.

A pleasurable experience can be intense. We like that.

Scary movies are intense. Some people like them. I don’t!

I often have to ask what is meant by intensity so that I don’t misinterpret.

There are many things that I love and crave to be intense.

As a Jethro Tull fan, I love to drive to “Thick as a Brick,” loud when I’m a certian mood. That’s intense. I like a lot of intense music. Scott Medina chanting “Durga Ma” is really intense for me.

Maybe this blog is intense.

Intensity can also be a defensive thing, too.

When we try to get something we want, we may get intense, especially if we are not getting it or if we think someone is trying to keep something from us. Seduction and manipulation are intense, and not in a good way.

Anger is intense. But it’s not necessarily bad to express anger.

Grief is intense. Again, expressing it can be very healing.

Emotions and thoughts are like the weather. They show up.  We decide what to do with them. Inquire whether a thought is true. Decide whether to blow up or have a calm conversation. Those are choices.

Making a choice can be intense or it can be as easy as falling off a log.

Steven Sashen says “Success is a side effect of clarity.” When we are clear, choices make themselves. We do the next thing. Otherwise, it can get intense

Whether things are clear or not kinda depends on whether we are telling the truth or not. When we are noticing what is and what is true, well, there’s a bit less of unpleasant intensity and for me, a lot more of the enjoyable kind of intensity, bliss.

Love, Ann

My HolyDay Card to You

Hi All,

I’m still working on finishing 50,000 words for “Ann’s Tale: There’s Another Mile to Go” in which a feisty young woman finds freedom and healing as she learns that our worst problems contain the juiciest gifts.

www.nanowrimo.org

 

These are the two most inspiring HolyDay songs I know. I’m sending them as my Christmas Card to You.

“The Christians & the Pagans”

Amber called her uncle, said “We’re up here for the holiday
Jane and I were having Solstice, now we need a place to stay”
And her Christ-loving uncle watched his wife hang Mary on a tree
He watched his son hang candy canes all made with red dye number three
He told his niece, “It’s Christmas eve, I know our life is not your style”
She said, “Christmas is like Solstice, and we miss you and it’s been awhile”

/ G C Am D / / Em C Am D / / G C Am D / /

So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able
And just before the meal was served, hands were held and prayers were said
Sending hope for peace on earth to all their gods and goddesses

/ G C Em D / / Em C Am D / Em C Am D G – /

The food was great, the tree plugged in, the meal had gone without a hitch
Till Timmy turned to Amber and said, “Is it true that you’re a witch?”
His mom jumped up and said, “The pies are burning,” and she hit the kitchen
And it was Jane who spoke, she said, “It’s true, your cousin’s not a Christian”

“But we love trees, we love the snow, the friends we have, the world we share
And you find magic from your God, and we find magic everywhere”

So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able
And where does magic come from, I think magic’s in the learning
Cause now when Christians sit with Pagans only pumpkin pies are burning

When Amber tried to do the dishes, her aunt said, “Really, no, don’t bother”
Amber’s uncle saw how Amber looked like Tim and like her father
He thought about his brother, how they hadn’t spoken in a year
He thought he’d call him up and say, “It’s Christmas and your daughter’s
here”
He thought of fathers, sons and brothers, saw his own son tug his sleeve
saying
“Can I be a Pagan?” Dad said, “We’ll discuss it when they leave”

So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able
Lighting trees in darkness, learning new ways from the old, and
Making sense of history and drawing warmth out of the cold

Christmas Song
Jethro Tull

Once in a royal David’s city
Stood a lonely cattle shed
Where a mother held her baby.
You’d do well to remember the things he later said.

When you’re stuffing yourselves at the Christmas parties
You’ll just laugh when I tell you to take a running jump.
You’re missing the point I\’m sure does not need making:
The Christmas spirit is not what you drink.

So how can you laugh when your own mother’s hungry,
And how can you smile when the reasons for smiling are wrong?
And if I’ve just messed up your thoughtless pleasures
Remember, if you wish, this is just a Christmas song.

(Hey! Santa! Pass us that bottle, will you?)

Love, Ann