What it Means to BE a Goddess: Raising Lust into Worship

This was written years ago, while still living in Santa Cruz, CA...  then was re-edited 12/2012 and posted as a note to Facebook.  I am at a point where it feels as though it needs to be *completely* re-written, so, of course... I am posting it here, now ;)

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As Woman, I was made in the image of the Goddess.  I was formed, molded and shaped into Her likeness and imbued with Her breath.  Her energies.  Her wisdom.  Her mysteries.  Her tenacity.  When I am in an authentic state of being: receptive, compassionate, capable, expansive: I am evoking Her.  When I am innately expressing my true essence I respect myself-- I hold myself in the highest esteem, and to the highest of standards.  I am powerful.  I expect to be treated with loving kindness, compassion, respect, and reverie- -as all authentic beings should be approached. 

To be worshipped as a Goddess is to be acknowledged for who I innately am: a strong, vibrant, intelligent, emotive force.  Such things are awe-inspiring: they are humbling to be in the presence of, because they are seated in humility themselves.  To have a man in my life- to share my being-ness with, my bed and heart with, is an honor.  It is a privilege.  I am the embodiment of Mystery-- I hold within my being vast emptiness, regeneration, birth and death.  Secrets that men must ask to learn, entreat to learn, and be deeply respectful of, as they are not innately possessors of such wisdoms.  Men possess and cultivate their own inherent skills and heroic nature.  The melding of Intuition and Skill is a beautifully powerful union.  It is sacred-- it integrates potentiality with action, birthing transformative change. 

The Unknown is seductive-- it is alluring and desirable.  When men are able to recognize that such Mysteries are not something to be taken, conquered, or possessed-- but experienced, reveled in, and worshiped, then a space opens for sincere communion.  Acknowledgement is vital-- to be recognized as someone more than an object of lust or beauty.  When a man thirsts for something more nourishing than simple sexual satiation it is deeply empowering to both parties.  Our culture has deviated from supporting that experience of true sexual commUNION with an experience that focuses on only expressing base, animalistic urges.  When I am gently and reverentially approached by a lover I am more inclined to unfurl, allowing the delicate and tender aspects of my being to be witnessed.  It takes coaxing, nurturing, and a gentle “warming up” to be truly present, truly in the moment with a partner.  My heart must be in alignment, and my soul must be aroused if I want to have exchange energies with a man- otherwise it is a disconnected, distracted, oft disheartened “act”.  I am aroused by more than mere touch- I am aroused (or not) by what he is bringing to me in that moment: his heart, his appreciation and awe of me, his desire to experience nourishing in the most intimate of ways, a longing to meld essences; to create, to integrate.  That sense of awe and wonderment and inquisitiveness is what makes sex so amazing- so powerful.  It makes magick.  It forges trust.  The coming together of two innately opposite forces in such a way that they blend together seamlessly is what is longed for.  The creativity and inquisitiveness is what compels a man to seduce: what is it that will pique her interest?  What is it that will turn her head?  Warm her thighs?  Release the burning heat of her tender heart, and let it drip deep into her root?   I want (and expect) to be seen as a complex, delicate creature- I want to be approached with caution and grace- steady hands, steady heart- with a sensitivity to the inclinations, energies, and subtle shifts that are pure communication, without having to verbalize every need and desire.  I am neither broken, fragile nor timid.

Dear Universe,

Today I go to look at an apartment.  A sweet lil one bedroom on SE Hawthorne.   Steps from a New Seasons, a few blocks from Cup and Saucer, and Bread and Ink and The Herb Shoppe and a plethora of other little nooks and crannies that I like to wander through when I have time to breathe.  I'm in love with it.  It's brick exterior, it's cozy little kitchen that is bright and cheery even in Portland downpours, a massively deep closet and a bath tub- pefection.  I don't really need much else.  Chloe will fit and Widders will, too-- as will my shoe collection, tea kettle, spinning wheel and absurd number of altars.  I've been mentally feng shui-ing the place for days now.  Yea.  I'm in love.  It's decided.  Thanks for the awesome new digs-- it's super appreciated!

**edit, *THI*S did not happen on 8/11/2013... umm.. blogspot weirdo... this happened two years ago *sigh*  (I totes live here, though. hehehe)

Love,
Sushila

Celestial Awakenings

One night as the Moon lay resting in perceived solitude,  unknowingly cradled... (a mere crescent) in an inky sky... She began reflecting, and realized that She had always been WHOLE.

Full. 

Mirrored memories stirred.  Since time remembered, She had feared a part of Her had been lost-forgotten alongside the intensity of the Sun's burning brilliance (She loved Him so dearly... how He embodied everything She longed to be); yet, She now knew Her shadow was as much a part of Her Essence as Her own silvered dew-light...

Wholeness, culmination, completion....

Her courses inspired creation; Her Voids were never lack; She surrendered to the effulgent embrace of Sky, and wept sylvan moon-drops, painting the very stars into the Night's velvet.

How long had she ached, longed, cried for the Sun's loving rays to embrace Her? To liberate-illuminate Her from Darkness's depths? To warm her wan pallor?  How long had She craved that which was (always) hidden within?

Oh!  How they had been burning inside Her always!

Awakening.  Bliss.

Her fragmented, fragile heart knit itself back together with the awareness of All that Is.  Of Love. Of shining with a luminescence so radiant, her halo-nimbus was seen thousands of miles away.  She rejoiced in her OWN effulgence. Her own brilliance... (and She was so divinely brilliant!) 

She swayed the very waters into dancing with cliffs.

Wolves howled in her honor.

Children dreamed under Her light-gift.

Her joy illuminated the Darkness.

Her Love lit up the Heavens.

As the reflection of her Beloved, She found Herself.

Ocean Missing-Musings

Midnight oceans hide more in their depths than dare be fathomed.

People come in waves... they ebb, flow, and crash-thrash against the rocks of Time. I sometimes marvel at the tumultuousness of appearances: the erratic splish-splosh cameos on any given Sunday. (Or Monday, for that matter.) What signal-beams am I sending out that magnetize, ignite, cauterize, stigmatize these Others...? If only I knew. Another layer of awareness to sift-shift, and sniff through. Stifle, silence, subdue... it's usually unintentional... But now I am tired, nearly weary, and somewhat wary of it all, *them* all, everything/one besides an Inner Circle that, for the most part, is very very distant. So instead I ache, and whimper-whine a bit in the direction of a black moon who proffers more comfort than any white-bright night-light hyped SuperSized SuperMoon. Because really? I like the Dark. I like the Shadows. The slink, the murk, the mossy-mayhem that hide-resides all that goes "BUMP...shhh...". Goodnight.

367 days and counting...

First and foremost: 

Dear Bloggity Blog, I miss you.  I apologize for the severe neglect I've subjected you to and I wish I could promise it's all going to be better now, but really, I'm tired of making promises.  And I'm very sleepy.  Regardless, I *am* typing now, so that surely must count for something, even if that something is filed neatly under the "too little too late" header.  Sincerely and with more formality  than usual: Sushila.

Second and subsequently:

Holy crap when did my life get so joyously, unsettling-ly, achingly busy?!  The 22nd marked my one year anniversary of being in the Land of Ports, and two years of being separated (now divorced) from my Husby... the prior week Chloe Belle celebrated her third birthday with too many cookies, and Widdershins still feels compelled to battle-cry as he flies through the air, usually onto Chloe's head-- or my stomach (but only if I'm sleeping).

Needless to say: I am processing a lot, the least of which is why it was snowing on the first day of Spring... not that I mind-- I've a soft spot for those fluffy flakes, and, although it's snowed a good handful of times here-- it still delights my heart, sends me into throes of awe, and causes me to run outside to catch those lil bliss bits on my lashes.  No.  It doesn't matter if it's 2am or in the middle of my work day and the phones are ringing incessantly.  I will go outside.  I have my priorities in order.  Chloe has adapted.  Well, to the snow at least-- though I do miss watching her attempt to trace each wisp down to the ground and snuffle it til her lil pup snout is snuffling from snow-huffing.  Now it's just so passe.  She *is* much more mature now, it's true.
I, apparently, am (happily) not.  I think she'll come around, though-- I mean, mud is still way high on her list of favorite things, which we delved into quite readily at the Doggie Park yesterday.  So there's still hope. 

I'm only happy when it rains...

This is Portland.

Or so everyone seems to tell me.

And yet, I'm not convinced.

I'm not convinced the quirky, whimsical city of wonderful absurdities I visited last year is *here*.  I mean, really...?  Sure, I now know more trannys, carnies, roustabouts, ringleaders, emcees, musicians, goths, groupies, dancers and dominatrix than should really be contained inside ONE city's limits, true... But I think, maybe it's because I'm not currently infatuated with The Unknowns:  Unknown neighborhoods, unknown friends, unknown suitors... now things are becoming familiar, and Oz isn't quite so Emerald.  I mean, don't get me wrong-- everything here is green... did I mention my new love affair with dogwoods and tulips and roses?  Yea.  Quite possibly worth the move just for the flowers... Chloe and I spend our (multiple) daily walks sniffing and snuffling the effulgent flora.   But it's just not... the escape I still adamantly refuse to admit I was seeking.  I wanted to find the Wizard and be granted clemency from Reality.

I'm finally ready to fess up:  I've had an intense two and a half years and battle scars to prove it and I just needed to get out.  I'm tired, I'm tender and I'm in a state of utter turmoil.  Surprisingly, I'm okay with it.  Not "okay with it" the way I was during these past few years, where I wasn't really "okay with it" at all-- where I held a stiff upper lip, smiled on cue and focused nearly all of my energy on anyone or anything else in an effort to not have to admit my world was being torn asunder... but "okay with it" in the way that I realize now, it's time for The Tower to come crashing down and to truly begin anew.

I thought I'd transition easily and flawlessly to Portlandia.  I thought I'd move here with all my lil duckies in a row;  they'd waddle off into some proverbial puddle of perfection and I'd live happily ever after.  Two and a half months later...and...  Nope.  Everything fell through.  Everything.  And for someone who simply usually normally(?) has to merely "think" it to "make" it, it's been a doozy.  I mean, really, Universe?  You want me to actually WORK and put EFFORT forth, for my heart's desires?  Pssshft.  I call shenanigans.  Apparently that's how Portland operates... sure, you can eek by in a matchbox room with food stamps and a bus pass, spewing how you *love* embracing the Bohemian life and you'd never sacrifice your freedom of creative expression that can be found busking on a downtown corner (when you're not thrifting at the Bins) by selling your soul for a real job (the HORROR!  steady income-- *le gasp*!)... but really, that's just 'cuz real jobs are like Unicorns in this land of ports... most don't believe they exist, let alone do they consider them obtainable.  All y'all artists are just bitter about it.  Yup.  I'm calling it:  Shenanigans.

With that being said-- I did manifest a "real" job (maybe I haven't lost my mojo!) and I'm still living my tarot slinging, reiki wrangling, shimmying dreams.  It's work, though.  It's absolutely mind blowing to me how MUCH work it is... and I'm loving and appreciating it so much more, because of that.  So, thank you, Portland (with your Vitamin D deficiency, relentless rain and inundation of pale men with paler follow through)-- you may not have granted me my Wish, but you gave me something better: the push into the Void to figure out how to do it myself.

Spring has Sprung

Goddess awakens, stretches Her limbs and shakes the snow from Her hair... Winter settled like a blanket while She slept.  Her toes curl, wiggle: disrupting the rich soil far beneath the ice.  Verdant shoots issue forth, pressing towards the dawn-lit sky: a dappling of green amidst the winter white.  Smiling at the blossomings about Her, She gently traces Her fingers through the snow... rivulets form and follow Her fingers' trippings, undulations down the hillsides.  Paths towards the River, paths toward Life. Life paths.  And so it has begun.  She rises, the first breaths of warm air issue forth, carrying the hints of cherry and apple blossom-- sweet, heady, inspiring.  Her rising forth harkens the song of lark and robin.  The curiosity of newly birthed fauna.  The beginning has begun.  Potentiality has sprung.