Category Archives: Sex

Death an dying, Life, Sex, Uncategorized

Let’s love your body into staying.

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Fourteen days ago I began a further exploration of me. A form of my own palliative care. A way to stem both the physical pain in my body and the emotional pain. Modern medicine is reaching its limits. I am learning to reframe my disease as a disease and not as my body. I am working with Pamela Madsen (PamelaMadsen.org). A sexuality and fertility educator. A woman I instantly felt a connection with.

I complained to her that my sexuality, my sense of arousal, my ability to orgasm was dimming with my mind. The fog that consumed everyday things like did I take my medication, where did I put my phone, the name of friends and family was also fogging me. The disease has stolen so much, I was not willing to let this be stolen too.

And so it began. Meditation, Explaining to me the link between my pilot light, those delicious warm feelings of arousal, the tingle between my legs and my heart. My pussy connected to my uterus, my cauldron and through the golden thread to my heart. A started to look for what I thought was lost.

Cupping my genitalia through my clothing I began a slow rock. The heal of my hand against me, pressure firm but not hard. My breathing slowed to the point I had to be reminded to inhale. Slowly I felt that familiar warmth and engorgement that was so elusive.

And then the emotional floodgates got pried quietly open. “Who am I?” Over and again. Thoughts I never ever thought about. “Who am I?” Mother, Wife, Patient, Giving, Wicked, Words came out and the tears began. I continued to rock and breathe

“What do I want?” Now I felt raw..I realize that now, at the moment the emotion poured. Hand on heart. My rate slowed and I rocked. The words poured. Breathing again and rocking and more tears.

With Pam’s help I slowly came back. My eyes opened and some of the pain was dulled. I felt “whelmed”. My circuits do work. I need to reframe some of my thoughts and love my body into staying.

I will work on maintaining the circuit. Learning to soothe myself by maintaining my level of arousal. I must learn I deserve this. I was surprised at the level of emotion that poured from me. The work is just beginning.

 

 

I wrote this piece after my first meditation for me. Why did I keep it a secret. Was I ashamed to admit I am that sexual vital creature? Was I embarrassed to be that woman with yearning sexuality? The answers were yes and yes. Last night I attended a seminar with other women. We dipped our feet into what I had done in session and over the week. This was not new to me. I could do this with other women. And even knowing every time at home the door to me opened and revealed more of my I was ok. I watched the tears fall from the other women, I watched one woman encounter profound physical pain, another felt relatively stilled and still another felt distant and watched from within. I on the other hand felt on fire. My skin literally burned to the touch. My friend and Pamela asked if I was ok as I was transformed from the woman who entered the room. I flushed with a life force I had not felt in years. The warrior is fighting. She carried a torch. A life force exists.

Today I open this piece. I share it for me. The embarrassment and fear gone. My warrior slept today. Exhausted but comfortable. Soothed by my sense of arousal. I am peaceful and alive.Amanda Tilton Sea Cliff1

Death an dying, Funeral, Life, Sex, Uncategorized

The Plan

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flrSurreal. The sun shone brightly. The birds pulled the grubs up from my front lawn. The mailman delivered the mail. The school bus dropped kids off at the corner. The lady who never picks up the poop after her dog walked her dog on our neighbors flowers. Life moved forward.

My husband and I walked into the funeral home. I’ve known the funeral director for years through our town and other connections related to saving lives. Now I was there to talk about my end of life. I sat across the table from my husband and he was frozen and numb. He was burying me already. I am alive. The funeral director and I exchanged war stories as easily as I exchanged the demographics of my life and my death. He was frozen and numb. I am alive. My mind scattered. I walked through the casket room. I am alive. He has me buried. I want more in my life. Anger welled within me. I picked the simple Oak casket. I am a Jew. I want a Chinese menu funeral. I watched him. We discuss a viewing that is not a viewing. We work a way to not be embalmed but to have the no view viewing. He tells the Director this matters to me. He knows what matters to me dead. But I am alive.

The shroud. My mother was very funny about it. She was not going to be buried in a farkakt shroud. She left a Ziploc bag including her panty girdle. She was buried in a simple black dress. My dad was buried in a shroud. I am looking for a white linen dress. He knew that too. I am alive.

I want some flowers, yes I know it’s not Jewish but I want them. I want stories. I have an appointment with a Unitarian minister. My sister wants a Shiva. So we will do that too. He knew that too. But I am alive. I want things now.

So as we wait to total things up. I scan through the floral book. No carnations, no gladiolas, no stands, no funeral vases, natural baskets and vases. He asks me to write it down. I am alive. I want to scream.

Prices in hand. We shake and agree to return with a deposit. This is surreal. I am alive.

We get home and he retreats again. He has me buried. I am alive. I want so much. I ache for our partnership. The human intimacy between married souls. I want life sweet and sensitive. I want life down and dirty. I still feel. I am alive.

I will not retreat. I want to scream. I am alive.

Death an dying, Family, Life, Rape, Sex, Uncategorized

Sanctuary

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Amanda Tilton Sea Cliff1

Sanctuary: a place where someone or something is protected or given shelter. I thought about this tonight as I looked at the exquisite picture of home taken by Miss Amanda Tilton.

Sanctuary: a place where someone or something is protected or given shelter. What is sanctuary?

The idea of sanctuary has been elusive to me in my lifetime. The first memory of no sanctuary was a horrid birthday party at age 5. Creepy in a mansion in Bayville, my skin crawled as the puppet man played the piano and the children played musical chairs. My memories are in black and white. Flashes come but I still shake at the incomplete memory.

Another loss of sanctuary was being a 13 yo girl at the Orthopedist with my mom. Sitting on the exam table to get my cast changed. My mom leaves the room. She had her first heart attack. Mom’s can die. She lived to have 5 more heart attacks. But limbo world I lived.

The assault on my psyche continued into college. Not only was it an assault on my psyche but my person and my space. I can still see his face, smell his cheap cologne and feel his cruelty. My apartment was no longer that sunny place. A pretext to study, became an assault. No alcohol. No drugs. Violence and Power. I called a friend who dragged me to the hospital. I returned to class as if nothing at happened. The police strongly advised me it was not worth the pain to report. My senior thesis about “Date Rape” written in 1986 received a commendation from the President’s Office at Stony Brook University. I advocate for Sexual Assault Victims. Sadly today, not much has changed on college campuses. No Sanctuary.

April 2, 2006 my feeling of safety and security flipped as completely upside down as it could. A trip to the ER to confirm a mono diagnosis due to a bad blood drawer turned into a parent’s worst nightmare. “Mrs. Dunn, Can you come speak to me across the hall. Is there someone we can call?” The line remains vivid in my head. T-Cell Leukemia. But he’s just 6 years old.To watch a child endure the vicious testing, treatment, side effects of chemotherapy. To feel ineffective as a parent to your three healthy children who needed a mom, but was too occupied in keeping my youngest alive. To watch a marriage become one of convenience…two ships that pass in the night. Sex was hall sex where we both yelled fuck you at each other. No Sanctuary

And finally the invasion of my body by a cruel and miserable hateful disease Lupus. It attacks the Sanctuary I have all along. Me. For as this disease attacks my brain and body. As it steals pieces of my life, my job, my ability to drive, my memory, my strength, the ability to breathe, alters my relationships with my friends, my family and my husband, I will not let it steal my Sanctuary. Sanctuary is not a place but it is within each and every one of us. My Sanctuary is me.