Divinely Feminine

I want to wear a red dress, the kind that floats around my thighs and reminds me I'm a woman.

I want the back to be low, so I can feel the strands of my hair tickle my skin when I turn my head. I love those sweet little messages my body sends to my mind reminding it that we're still quite alive.

I want to wear it with red shoes, the kind that allow my little red toe tips to peek out, high enough that they make my hips sway a little more than if my feet were planted firmly on the ground. Sometimes it's good to feel a little less grounded.

I want a gentle breeze to catch my own perfume and brush it across my face, reminding me not all beauty can be seen.

I want to feel the power of my feminine wiles when I walk in a room and make heads turn. AND not for the art of manipulation. AND not even to use or mis-use in any way.

I just want to feel it and roll around in it and get drunk in it.

I want to remember that power is in me, that sensuality is mine. No matter how old I become, no matter how my body changes, no matter, no matter, no matter...

The feminine within me never leaves.

It has nothing to do with what I wear or how I look BUT everything to do with how I feel. I feel it when I move my body. I feel it when I write. I feel it when I laugh. I feel it when I cry.

It looks and feels different in every woman. We express it through our art, through our touch, through our compassion and through our passion. These are our gifts to the world to be cherished.

BUT this individual expression of it is mine. I am free to revel in it, and use it as I will. AND I will wear that dress and those shoes and get lost in my own essence... AND I will own it.

AND for the silly creatures who can't see that the sway in my hips is not for them, but a movement that comes from something they will not ever fully understand, that mystery will be impossible for them to know. They have no clue how divinely sensual it is to be feminine.

Some will spend their entire lives searching for answers in every feminine wile that floats their direction and still know nothing. They are the surface dwellers afraid to explore the treasures in the depths of the ocean. It is the divers courageous enough to plunge deep that find the gems.

If you want to know me, look at the straightness of my spine and recognize a woman with a backbone. Explore the lines on my face.... The ones around my mouth from laughing, the ones between my eyebrows from fretting and the ones around my eyes from crying. Although it may sag a little now, look at my jaw and see the pugnacity of a woman determined to know and live in Truth.

If you want to feel me, get lost in the sway of my hips... If you dare?  They express the transparency of my nature that excites you as well as scares you a little beyond your comfort zone.

I do not waste my time with flirtations. If you can feel the intensity of my gaze, know that it was intentional. If you can't, you must be sleeping. It's not my role to awaken you. I am too old and too wise to be frivolous with my gifts.

He, she, it... whatever.  Labels are not important. Authenticity of being is important. It's not who we are that matters. What matters is  knowing who we are and mustering up the bravery to express it. #liveoutloud#shineshamelessly#blissoutmadly#

Where the Wild Ones Shake

To be a writer one must write. I feel like an imposter lately, posing as a writer for I haven't written in so long. I sit to write, and it seems the words don't flow. They have no substance, no juicy bits to express. Have I nothing to say? Have I lost my voice? Are my thoughts that jumbled? Have I become so caught up in the world that the feeler, the thinker, the artist in me has gone to sleep?

That cannot be. For it is the feeler- thinker- artist in me that feeds my soul. When she sleeps, my world seems smaller with hard edges and straight lines. When she is awake, she dances wildly in mind, painting pictures with words, expanding horizons and softening edges with her curly, swirly lines.

I felt so ridiculously emotional yesterday for imagined reasons. That usually happens when she's trying to get my attention, and I am too busy for her. And if I ignore her, she only knocks louder. However, what disturbs me more is when she becomes silent.

I fear I may have been ignoring her louder and louder knocking, and now the her silence has become deafening. I have made a horrible mistake, but I see what I must do now. I must stir her from her slumber, and I must do it now or she may go deeper and deeper into sleep, farther and farther away from me.

I will start gently. I will go to her favorite places, where the tall trees sway. She so loves to hear their sweet creaking. I will breathe in the sun until she can feel it kiss her cheeks. I will sit by the pond and watch the ducks and herons, then dip my toes in with the hopes that the chilly water will get her attention.  Then I will play her favorite music and swirl and twirl my body until she feels the aliveness of the rhythm that has been resting in my hips.

Yes, that's it! I will dance her awake until I fall to the floor in a sweaty pool of juiciness. Then I will breathe, breathe long and slow and deep until she speaks. I know her well. She can be coerced. She is not angry or sad. She is simply bored to tears. Worldly concerns, errands, work and toil are like poison to a passionate soul.

 No, I will not let her stay asleep. We will dance and sing today. The day's duties have been canceled. Don't bother to call us because where we are going we cannot be reached, beyond superficial man made dreams to where the wild ones shake away everything that is not soul.