Big boys with new electronic toys.
Sunday, December 25, 2022
Wednesday, December 21, 2022
Thursday, December 1, 2022
Tuesday, November 8, 2022
Saturday, November 5, 2022
Missionary Position
Perhaps painting my bedroom this color wasn't the best idea. Because of the implications of the color name. It really is a quite lovely shade of ivory. But somehow I feel doomed.
Wednesday, November 2, 2022
Tuesday, November 1, 2022
Monday, October 31, 2022
Monday, October 3, 2022
Saturday, October 1, 2022
Thursday, September 1, 2022
Monday, August 1, 2022
Friday, July 1, 2022
Sunday, June 26, 2022
Wednesday, June 1, 2022
Saturday, May 7, 2022
Friday, May 6, 2022
Abortion Rant #3
Abortion absolutely must remain a safe, legal, and available medical procedure. A decision made by a woman, her doctor, perhaps a significant other, and what/whom she considers her higher power. Otherwise we are slipping back into darker times. Women will die. Republicans and religious zealots, the blood is on your hands.
Sunday, May 1, 2022
Friday, April 1, 2022
Tuesday, March 1, 2022
Tuesday, February 1, 2022
Monday, January 31, 2022
Blogiversary Fifteen
Fifteen years ago today I sat down at my laptop and wrote my first blog post. I had friends who blogged and they encouraged me to blog myself when I left lengthy comments on their blog posts. Encouraged is a kind word, a couple of them downright told me to stop hogging their comment space! I didn't have a digital camera. I didn't know how to import images. The internets were mostly a mystery to me. At times I have been a bit embarrassed when I look back at earlier posts but I leave them as they are. They are evidence of my growth as a writer and a chronicle of my life on that particular day. To go back and edit I feel would be dishonest. Only once have I taken down a post, and I wrote a post to explain why. The last couple of years have been personally very difficult for me and I have felt less than inspired when it comes to writing in this space. I will be back! But not quite yet. I'm slogging through some things that I'm not ready to write about. Eventually I will share some of it when I have sorted out precisely how to share without compromising others who are involved. Let me just say that at the epicenter of the ongoing worldwide COVID-19 pandemic and this country's political turmoil, I have my own little tempest raging away. I must also express how grateful I am for the generous support of my family and friends during this onerous time. I might be bent but I'm not broken.
Friday, January 7, 2022
Embrace Your Inner Crone
Photo Credit: Sarah Peirse
That's right.
The crone. The ancient old woman. The witch. The hag.
The crone archetype is an aspect of the feminine not exactly associated with sexuality.
Women groom themselves to be girls. The younger the better.
Paint those lips red and blush those cheeks like you are wet and ripe for impregnation.
Make them believe you are in perpetual ovulation.
Make them hard. Make them desire you.
Get that face lift. Suck in that belly. Bat those lashes.
Guess what.
The crone doesn't give a fuck.
And that is her power.
She embraces her spider lines and swinging sagginess.
After all, this is what life does to the body of a woman...eventually!
Does that make you uncomfortable? Would you rather not see?
Her secret threatens to corrupt you.
She can make you wild.
She can reveal to you your power.
Your volcanic senseless holy.
Once she opens her mouth, the jig is up.
They tell you she is crazy.
Dangerous because she has broken out of that jail cell you call restrictions.
How would you have sex if you didn't give a fuck about how pretty you look?
Or how flat your stomach is?
The crone is not an object of desire.
She is free to claim her own desire.
In a world that praises women for being objects of desire.
Where the more lust you can seduce the more value you possess, the crone is laughing with that cackle only women of power have.
She does not possess the enchanting beauty of the maiden or the fertile reproductive juices of the mother.
She no longer bleeds. She no longer bears children.
Her sex no longer waxes and wanes with the moon, gaining and draining energy with each passing tide.
She is full.
The portal to her blood has been sealed.
She is drinking in the nectar. She is bathing in its luminous darkness.
Her sex is a diamond pressed and polished by years of experience and wisdom.
She has passed through all the phases of initiation as a woman.
That heavy web of social conditions all feminine creatures are baptized into.
She is unraveling herself from these webs.
She has liberated her sex from all their stories.
She is making it to the other side.
Freeing herself.
Without the ability to be a mother or a sex object, what is left of a woman and her sex?
I'll tell you what.
Pure power that doesn't give a fuck.
Crazy wisdom that knows how to make love to the moment.
Sex that ripples through every authentic cell of your body.
Sex that pulses with every tiny whisper of life knowing life.
If you want to find the seat of your sexual power.
Your real deep sovereign sexual nature.
Find the crone that lives in you.
Wild. Ugly. Innocent. Real.
The real initiation begins here.
-- Maya Luna
