As I write this, I am sitting in an Italian café in the middle of the city, eating a bowl of soup. I’ve been sick for the last week, and had to cancel a lot of client appointments. This is more for their benefit than mine. I’m pretty vigorous, even when ill, but it gives me a quick temper and I’d perhaps be more harsh than I should be. Paulo’s been a doll. The first few days stuck in bed in the apartment, he ran me soup and orange juice – and of course, being Paulo, another poem. I didn’t appreciate the last one so much. I blew my nose on it, scrunched it up and threw it back at him, before slamming the door. I saw him through the curtains, retrieve the paper and put it in his pocket – silly little deviant.
It’s sunset, and outside in the park a group of thirty musicians are sitting in a circle under a cloud of pot smoke. Right now they sound a little discordant and unfocused, but I imagine when the pot intake hits a critical mass, they’ll create a good sound.
It’s funny how being sick makes you appreciate the little things. For example, the warm saltiness of chicken noodle soup. The fragrant steam from a lavender infused bath. Slipping a naked body, warm and sensitive from a while in the water, into clean cotton sheets. The bed became my fortress for a while. I spent a lot of time fantasizing about various things and pulling tarot cards for future tasks. One of my fantasies concerns a certain individual, who completely throws me off balance on an ongoing basis. A friend. I think. The kind of person who says very sensible, clever things, but at the same time stokes my desires (seemingly without trying) to the point that I am quite ineffectual in my daily life, and fantasize about setting upon him on a regular basis. Will I? I certainly shouldn’t. I spend my days teaching my subs discipline and this has all the makings of a very undisciplined situation. Still, I’m perpetually itchy about it. After two days in bed, I’d started getting a little frustrated about both the cold, and the fantasies.
I called my friend, High Priestess Ember. She’s a member of various pagan organizations and a wise woman. Everyone needs a wise woman – she’s mine. Tall and voluptuous, with a booming cackle and electrical green eyes under her raven hair, if I’m ever feeling off, she’ll right me. She’s the kind to call you on whatever bullshit she thinks you’re spinning. Like I said – invaluable.
“Well it sounds like the sexual aspect is pretty important to you right now.”
“Right now…. When is it not?”
“Sex is one way to experience connection, Katia. What’s actually happening during such a sexual experience is a connection to self. You are vibrating with a joy and love that is one with all… true connection.”
“I am vibrating with something. Ugh. It needs to stop.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”
“I do… a little. Alright. Alright.”
She laughed again and gave me an exercise for personal sexual magic, that I wanted to share with you. If your Mistress or Master has given you permission to please yourself, this is a good way of connecting intent with sexual energy.
As you masturbate, focus your thought and emotions on some kind of magical intent. In this case, maybe it’s to attract something that has a sexual or intimate connotation to it. As you carry on, focus on the outcome you desire. You can chant a phrase or incantation too that is applicable, repeating it over and over. The idea is to build the energy of your focus and manifestation towards your goal through sexual energy and to send it off at the moment of climax. Afterwards, you can end the session with a simple “So Mote it Be” if you wish.
Let me know if you try this. I’d be interested to hear your stories. Email me and let me know. katiaThornwood@gmail.com
As for me, I’m not sure if it worked. But, it didn’t hurt!