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Archive for the ‘spiritual issues’ Category

I was worn out today after a Christmas party followed by all three of us calling my mom to introduce her to The Hunter and prepare her for our entire triad coming for Christmas. All preceded by a long night of very little sleep and lots of fucking and talking – The Hunter and I were in don’t-make-us-go-to-sleep-yet slumber party mode.

I was agitated after that, so The Hunter offered to silently rub my feet and usher me into a dreamy nap, which of course I accepted and it became an entire foot-washing ritual including removing my old nail polish.

Foot washing bowl and red-nail-polishy cotton balls.

He tenderly massaged my feet after washing them with a soft, warm washcloth. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the cloth being immersed in the metal bowl of warm water and tea tree oil, then pulled out dripping and wrung out.

My clean bare feet after The Hunter washed them.

And then it became soothing feathery back stroking. The Hunter softly listed all of the things that are taken care of, that I don’t have to worry about, things that are good and that Godde is doing for us. A list so sweetly stated I said that I would have paid $99,000 to hear it said. And then cuddling and taking our clothes off and kissing. And then it became more fucking.

Post-fuck getting ready for my close-up.

And then I came with his cock in me and my buzzy toy on my clit. And then he came in me. And I wasn’t agitated anymore and he took these pictures of me and I went to sleep.

My hairy pussy splattered with The Hunter's hot cum.

Pictures like this make me super, super excited (it’s the man-hands, I think, and the relatively little-looking pussy):

The Hunter holding open my wet, swollen pussy lips.

And then Delia went with The Hunter to buy groceries. And they brought home flowers that I just put in a vase and The Hunter is preparing a family meal we’re going to eat at the table.

And if this all sounds unbelievably awesome and extraordinary, that’s because it is. Three Hundred Twenty-Seven impossible dreams come true. Probably more.

Dim light coming through skylight in my cabin's loft.

I don’t know how many nights and days Delia’s boyfriend has been here now. How many nights I’ve slept by myself in the cabin. How many times we’ve fucked. In what variations. How many times we’ve come. How many hours of sleep lost. How much work left undone.

Watching Worf leading a Tai Chi class on Star Trek: Next Gen

I’m surprised and confused by liking so much of this as much as I do. I’m distressed by the vulnerability of wanting more of it / not wanting Delia’s boyfriend aka The Hunter to leave yet.

But he went grocery shopping and made lasagna and says I should let him clean my toilet. And Delia loves him. And he’s a big Star Trek: The Next Generation fan, too. And made me feel better after this by saying what a good Captain he thinks Kathryn Janeway is.

The Hunter serving up lasagna he made.

All of the talking and phone noises and not-knowing-what-next tires me out. Or maybe all of the not-sleeping tires me out. And worry over not getting “enough” done. And being totally overstimulated.

But when we were all in bed talking about ST: Voyager and The Hunter changed the subject from an argument over our diverging opinions of Chakotay by asking, “can you imagine being able to hold it together after finding your little ship thrown however-many parsecs or light years away from home and not knowing if you’ll ever get back?” It reminded me of  one of my coping tools:

Sometimes when my eyeballs feel like they’re about to pop out of my head from the force of my frustration and I start hyperventilating and looking around for things to throw out the window (or AT the window while it’s still closed so they’ll both make satisfyingly loud shattering sounds), I try to calm down by asking myself, “what would I do if I were an Officer on the Starship Enterprise? I certainly wouldn’t behave like this, even if WebWhore Headquarters were about to blow up in forty-five seconds!” Patience! Faith in one’s own problem-solving abilities! Barely a sense of urgency: just a confident, one-step-at-a-time pursuit of a solution with nary a raise in my heart rate.

If our lives right now were an episode of Star Trek, it would be one of my all-time favorites. With me as a cross between Quark, Barclay, and a special busty guest who loves cock.

*****

There is a loving, guiding friend in our (especially Delia’s and now The Hunter’s) lives who says something about salvation being a word that actually means homecoming. To be welcomed home into a family of people who know and love you at a fundamental level . . . to FIND your home, or make a new right one. We long for salvation, to be embraced by people who recognize us as a child of good no matter what mistakes we’ve made or how broken and fucked up we are.

*****

I started weeping when Delia played the Jerry Garcia Band cover of The Maker and couldn’t finish eating my lasagna in bed.

After so so much talking, we parked under the trees with him still not knowing what was going on.

I asked him about music and he showed me a cd folder filled with things he’d gotten for free or found because he has no money and he gave away everything he owned. I picked out a disc with music I had on vinyl as a kid and loved in the seventies: the Clockwork Orange-y Disney Electrical Parade music.

He put the disc in to play and noticed everything was weird, and we were parked and “it seemed like we should be making out.”

Then I said, “well actually . . . ”

And then BLAH BLAH BLAH consent talk consent then I was on him and we were kissing and groping and grinding and the next 90 minutes were awesome and surreal, and not just because of this music which played the whole entire time:

It really made hearing a guy talking about fucking me so deep I’d feel it in my ribs / throat / skull even more fantastically absurd and mind-altered than it usually is. And by “usual” I mean that I usually only hear that in phone sex or camshows. Maybe I’ve heard it in real life once or twice? Not sure.

The next day he asked me if I liked that particular line of dirty talking. He said it was a girl who told him to talk like that once, because “it’s just so visceral“. I just told him that I do love hearing dirty talk.

I’m sure I will never ever again use that music as a sex tape, but just this once it made it an extra-magical event.

*****

For three days in a row he told me he really only wants to have sex in a relationship, and since we can’t have (his kind of) a relationship, I guess we can’t fuck or something?

The trouble is that when he says he wants to be friends, he REALLY REALLY MEANS IT. He says he has to think about what this is/I am doing FOR him, versus what I am doing TO him.

I guess I’ve now officially entered the realm of predatorial cougarhood.

*****

So I talked to (let’s call him) my spiritual advisor about this situation. My spiritual advisor told me there is a rule (number 13!) in our fellowship not to fuck certain people, and this particular guy is certain people. So I should not fuck him.

My spiritual advisor also told me “HE IS NOT A MACHINE, TRIXIE!” And the guy has complained over and over about being objectified. Which I guess somehow made me objectify him more? I don’t know. I thought I was being really loving and sensitive about it.

I knew this might be messy, but I didn’t plan on it being so confusing for me.

I’m so torn between not wanting to be a horrible person and REALLY WANTING THE COCK. And the kissing. And to get him to make porn with me.

And a tonic to ease my fear of death, as my spiritual advisor also pointed out.

I’m almost forty, you know.

*****

More trippy music, this time with 80’s strippers, thanks to Kat:

I’m on the 16th day of a 90 day thing. Not a diet or a cleanse or a new pharmaceutical regimen. No, not rehab either. But I think by the 90th day it might appear that way.

The reason I’m (vaguely) sharing this is to ask people to be as patient with me as I’m trying to be with myself instead of telling myself I don’t have time or that something good is taking too long or I’ve been healthy for four days so it’s time to go back to “normal” already! It’s definitely cutting into my routine because I’m going to a support group of sorts every single day, or twice in a day if I skip a day.

I told my sister about it and she could barely believe it: “Wow, that’s A LOT of leaving the house for you, Trixie. How’s that going for you?”

So yeah, as people who are close to me know, I don’t have a lot of stamina for interacting with people or even just being around them much (even though I *love* people!). Or even just leave the house much, as my sister pointed out. I’m able to do these meetings, though, because I know how long they last and there is a structure to each one and guidelines for behavior. And because I get so much out of going, even when some of the meetings start out and I’m like, “oh my god how the fuck am I going to sit through this?!?” and then every single time IT IS WORTH IT.

*****

The really big thing that’s happened in the past couple of weeks is that I’ve asked people for help. One is for help with the above stuff and the other person is for help with stuff YOU are interested in, stuff that has to do with our porn sites! This person is super DUPER awesome. We’re gradually going to tell you more about this person, and this person may tell you more and more, too. If you’re lucky! Most of the work she’s doing is behind the scenes, back-end stuff but it will free Delia and I up from having to do it (or in my case just sitting around being afraid of doing it. SO MUCH of it).

While two weeks in is too soon to get people (me included) looking around for grand results, I do already feel immensely relieved and things look (and feel) a lot simpler than they were in my agonizing, trying-to-do-it-myself, totally-confused-and-overwhelmed brain state. We’ve exhausted ourselves over the past ten years thinking that first we had to “get rich” to hire someone to help us, insanely getting the cart WAY before the horse. Delia’s been working her ass off on cam for the past few months so tell her “thank you” for making the money to help attract the work-time of this super duper new friend of ours! And thank you to all of you who buy shows with her and memberships from us!

On my way to the cabin this morning, I almost hit a wee little fawn. It may actually have bounded into the side of my wheel but still been okay enough to bounce off and go away in a safer direction.

One block later I saw some crows feasting on a dead rabbit on the side of the road which made the idea of killing a deer less traumatic, even if a spotted baby. Especially when I think that it’s highly likely (or am I exaggerating?) I will someday hit an animal while driving. Better something small that won’t also kill or injure us upon impact, right?

I’m actually not even sure it’s the idea of killing an animal that bothers me. What I think I’m really anxious about is what I’m supposed to do afterward. Ideally the animal would obviously be dead and clearly not somebody’s pet so I could just leave. I mean, I *think* you can just leave or can you? I’m also not sure if it would be genuinely hard for me to put an animal out of its misery or if I’m just afraid someone will catch me doing it the wrong way. And what the fuck am I thinking I would do? Would I stomp on a baby deer’s head or what? I wouldn’t even know where to look in our vehicle for an implement to deliver a killing blow. What if I bashed in a baby deer’s head when all it had was broken legs and another person would have taken it to the wildlife rescue people to put four long skinny white casts on it? What if someone sees me walking away from something they think it’s wrong to walk away from? What if it turns out I don’t know the difference between right and wrong at all?

There are way too many deer in our town. What difference does it make in the grand scheme of life, anyway? Why do I spend time thinking about cradling deer heads in my lap while I watch the light go out of their dumb pretty brown eyes?

I know you’re supposed to call the cops to “dispatch” the animal, though. I don’t want to sit around with a hurt animal waiting for help, but I guess if it’s in town it wouldn’t take that long. But what if we’re in the middle of nowhere? What if we have no phone reception? What if I don’t have a phone at all? Do I pick it up and take it somewhere to be euthanized or doctored up if mendable? What if it’s too big to move or if it’s so broken up it’s all falling apart in chunks? Is that how I relieve it of its pain? By ripping it in two? Or is that the effort that brings the reality of the situation home? When is it worth it to be covered with an animal’s blood and guts? Would I tell somebody, “I’m sorry I left your pet on the side of the road but I’m allergic to cats and couldn’t pick it up to bring it home to you?”

Why do I waste time thinking about things? Why is my mind so occupied with fears?

Why don’t we have a gun in our car? Why don’t I have emergency numbers programmed into my phone? Why don’t I know the name of the road I’m on and the cross street and my location on the map?

*****

Last night on a longish drive home I  wondered out loud to Delia, “have we seen any owls this year?”

No.

Three minutes later an owl flew across the road in front of us into the trees. With her wings rowing through the air the headlights made a strobe effect because of the white of her body and under her wings compared to the darker on top.

I hope I never hit an owl. But for some reason I feel like I know exactly what the right things would be to do if that ever were to befall us.

Why don’t I always have a thick blanket with me to wrap around someone that’s hurt and scared so they won’t bite off my nose or scratch off my skin when I try to help them?

*****

Sometimes I think I’m really helpless and stupid and don’t have the answers to anything useful or important or the right tools for the job.

I don’t even know where the fuck I am.

*****

Someone we know died last night and in the interest of making “normal” conversation I forgot that her death is finally a good thing, and nobody needs or wants us to be sorry that her friends were with her as she left. I forgot that it would have been okay to smile with relief when our friend told me and to hug her with celebration instead of loss.

*****

Yesterday our friend showed us something really complex he’s been working really hard on for months. It’s a teaching tool to help people make better decisions under trying conditions to dispatch the enemy with as little collateral damage as possible. In the example they are trying to maintain freedom of movement on a key route.

This is a metaphor for the rest of it but a whole lot more than that, too.

I’m incorrectly paraphrasing our friend, but most people like us have no idea what most people like them go through and what they’re like, and maybe don’t even think of them as people in the same way they think of each other, which makes them pompous hypocrites.

I’m still learning a lot from yesterday and today and right now. I even just cried and I think it was good for me.

Now I’m just going to try to “do the next right thing” which is probably a lot easier (and definitely more useful) than fantasizing about things I’m afraid of and listing all of the things I DON’T know how to do or fix or heal or change or bury.

Sometimes I really want to take pictures of my poop, but decide against it because our toilet is too gross.

Sometimes we’re afraid of the wrong things.

Lately I’m seeing how much of a pattern this is for me – worrying about small things while giving absolutely no thought or consideration to large, serious issues.

Sometimes I obsess over the wrong details, ignoring the obvious problems.

Maybe it’s not really God that’s in the details, it’s insanity.

I’m surprised and amazed at how much this January first felt like a special day. Was it the sun? The late morning heat we got to bask in in our parlor? We did so much good simple stuff: picked up, plant-watered, worked, went for a walk:

Dissipating contrails & blue sky on New Year's Day, 2011

It looks warmer than it was:

Bundled up on the beach, snowy Mt. Baker

I didn’t anticipate that I’d feel so great this morning. I wish I knew how to describe these feelings, that loaded up with magic potential. Maybe it’s that I still have a cold or am getting over it but my head’s blocked up and things have been/are shifting around in there to make stuff sound different. Maybe the pressure of fluid makes me see things strange.

I opened the door to spit out a gob of phlegm and heard little girls’ voices coming from somewhere but the only living thing in sight was a deer. Maybe she was talking with her sister in the bushes.

Things I (almost) always congratulate people on with genuine happiness, enthusiasm and well-wishes:

• finding religion (or some form of contact with divinity or spirituality)
• finding religion (or some form of contact with divinity or spirituality) is bullshit
• deciding to love someone, move in with someone, or marry
• deciding to break up or divorce
• pregnancy
• abortion (but I would never congratulate anybody on a miscarriage, unless they specifically said they were glad for it)
• deciding they never ever want to have children
• asking for help with a problem (preferably from somebody other than me, but in very rare cases I’m glad someone asked me — I know, I’m a dick)
• discovering they were wrong about something / changing their mind
• recognizing that something bad that happened to them wasn’t their fault or anything they had control over.
• any sexual encounter that they’re excited to tell me about
• abstaining from sex or drugs or whatever they decide they want to abstain from
• relief-bringing farts, burps, or poops (if they share that they had a good one)
• starting school or deciding to learn or practice something new
• quitting school
• starting a new job
• quitting a job
• ceasing or limiting consumption of anything that bothers them ethically, morally or makes them sick
• making a big fucking mistake and realizing it
• incurring debt for something they want or a risk they want to take
• going bankrupt
• opting out
• opting in
• getting dirty and staying that way for an extended period of time
• getting clean
• baptism
• feats of strength or endurance or solitude
• wallowing deeply and darkly until the tired hurt passes
• putting a team together or being part of one to make something happen, even if it’s a miserable failure
• figuring out you hate something and deciding to avoid it as much as possible for the rest of your life
• figuring out you’re not good at something and you don’t want to waste time trying to become good at it. Ever.
• moving

This is not an exhaustive list.

Pretty much any change is cause for congratulations and celebration, as far as I’m concerned. One thing I sometimes feel like congratulating people on but don’t is the diagnosis of an illness or disease. Because now you know and your life is being transformed, and you can shape your healing or reception of the change or whatever. I have to thank my mom for that, for raising me to never be afraid of finding out something bad about my health . . . to think of it as an opportunity (though she was thinking of things that aren’t 100% death sentences, things like diabetes, heart disease and herpes). Also, I really wish people had congratulated me when I was diagnosed with ADD. Or just for taking the steps to get help.

I know I’m not always a nice person, but I often feel really happy and excited for change in people’s lives and pull for them to experience all of the amazingness in life they possibly can: redemption, discovery, movement, freedom, immersion, floating, love, humility, creation, running as fast as we can, and stopping to catch our breath, sinking into the earth with dog-tiredness weighing tons of magnets.

I just used some of my webcam money to subscribe to one of my favorite radio programs ever, Hearts of Space. Nevermind the ill-advised acronym (so typical of nerds to make a hilarious mistake like that, god love ‘em).

Since our porn business operates on a subscription basis, it’s interesting to research other subscription-based internet products, their price points, and comparing the offerings. I loved reading the HOS: WHY PAY? page. Like porn, music is something you can get free online in a million places. Even when people don’t ask you to justify charging for it, many of us feel we MUST explain it (I’ve been criticized by adult webmasters for the times when I’ve disclosed similar information and confronted those questions when maybe I should leave them alone). It’s inspiring to read the way Hearts of Space explains some of their business approach (and costs outsiders don’t comprehend without being taught) because it’s so firmly rooted in a clear vision, one that I know DELIVERS an experience I’ve never gotten from any other radio programming. There is a certain personality, there are seductive, hypnotic voices I’m attached to, and there is a well-planned journey offered by HOS.

HEARTS of SPACE PRODUCER STEPHEN HILL’s CAREER seemed to take a sharp detour in the early 70’s when he abandoned his architectural career and opened a recording studio. . . . In retrospect, Hill realizes he never really left architecture. He simply became a sound architect who learned to build his castles on the air. “Architects create environments with physical materials.
I do it with sound.” - Stephen Hill

It’s also interesting to observe my own thought process in deciding what kind of subscription to get: I chose the $13 a month all-access plan because I don’t feel like I can shell out the money for a year even though I know it would save me money in the long run. Also, The internet radio channel only (no archives or playlists) probably would’ve been good enough for me, but if it wasn’t, I didn’t want to try to figure out how to upgrade mid-month. Out of laziness/a desire to be efficient with my time and not necessarily need or probable usage, I chose the more comprehensive membership. I know people go through similar though processes when deciding which membership plan to get for our sites.

Hearts of Space is an inspiring model of how to create and sustain and love a “product” that’s not personalized for each individual listener but still manages to feel intimate even though it’s mass-delivered and not even live (except maybe one hour a week, I think).  It speaks of a void and manages to fill it –inside of me and outside of me — at the same time. I’m fascinated by people and groups who design and deliver stimuli producing what appears to be a relatively mundane experience (compared to, say, a roller coaster ride in a theme park or a provocative theatre piece, etc.) that manages to infiltrate people’s lives by being constantly accessible in private, demanding little of them but providing addictive stimulation. A little like a favorite diner or coffee shop. Something offering sustenance you could get elsewhere, but elsewhere just wouldn’t be QUITE right. I believe there’s something about the earnestness of the proprietors to deliver an actual EXPERIENCE they’ve envisioned in rich detail and feel in their own bones that makes Hearts of Space , some bookstores, a couple of Indian and Thai restaurants in Tacoma, and some porn sites exceptional.

I love music and I love feeling distant connections to people, but it’s impossible for me to listen to voices or most music and WORK at the same time. “Space music” offers me the kind of escape and transcendence I long for. It’s a spiritual salve for me that allows me to imagine journeying into a meaningful peaceful nothingness of wind and colors and stars and the smell of ozone. It gives me a lot of the feeling I get from imagining my ideal forms of church or prayer or sanctuary or space travel. It’s like having a lucid flying dream. That’s totally worth $13 a month to me. “Greetings, space fans . . . “

There’s a vibe on Hearts of Space that I’d like to infuse my own site with – that I’ve always wanted to be there and have maybe succeeded in transmitting some of the time (not the SAME vibe, but a quality or peculiarity of vibe). I think it will be helpful to listen to HOS on a daily basis to remind myself of the possibilities and how personality and vision and voices (even in very limited doses, more often without words) can combine in powerful, seductive, and soothing ways. How to make transportation out of your aesthetics and values to take people to a place they recognize as one where their belief systems make perfect sense. Or freewheeling careless nonsense. Where you look around and feel yourself and even though nothing has changed, you’re like, “THIS is it, what I was trying to remember that was bothering the tip of my tongue.”

Like, fucking psychic alignment, man!

Click here for an older post about new age music, porn and more.

*****

I know, you’re all like . . . post some porn, woman!! Are you losing your mind?

I can only answer in a predictably crazy way by insisting that no, I’m totally on the verge of genuine SANITY, motherfuckers!! Seriously, like, all is about to be REVEALED!!

I’ll try to post something porny and down-to-earth for you soon, mkay? I’ll TRY.

I am always trying. I don’t know if that’s apparent or not, but it’s true.