Divorce opens up a space for you to meet your partner for the first time. All of the ideas of who you should be to each other are ripped away and the two of you can finally sit across each other, human to human, and discover who you actually are.
I love Valentines day.
I’m like someone who starts hanging Christmas lights in November. I celebrate the entire week.
I think the story is beautiful. That St. Valentine, likely himself celibate was willing to go against the throne, holding secret marriage ceremonies-suffering execution for his service to love, feels to me like a concentrate of what love is-breaking the rules of the throne of the known world, answering to the authority of a pull you cannot escape. Dying for it because you could not live with yourself if you didn’t serve love first. View full article »
My experience is that most women are in the business of beast management and oh, what a challenging vocation it can be.
I was in a café. Sitting next to me was a gorgeous Nordic looking woman-that white blond hair, the perfect application of simple adornment, lips of the young. She was talking with her equally beautiful dark counterpart of a woman, likely Mediterranean, with waves of dark brown hair.
The Nordic woman had an unsettling and discordant panic in her voice. Her voice was all car alarms and dogs barking, rather than the tone of an angel you were expecting.
“Well, yeah, I mean okay so I used to purge, I mean a lot, I mean like 500 dollars of food a day, a lot” screech, clang, crunch “but it started affecting everything, I mean my teeth and I was getting wrinkles. I had to find another way.” Mediterranean nodding to the gospel that Nordic is speaking, “okay but I couldn’t gain weight, right?” head nodding as in yeah, that is soooo obvious, “so now I just can’t stop consuming”. View full article »
I try, really I do, to not put crazy talk on my blog. I come from a kind of blue collar spirituality, salt of the earth, as one woman beautifully called it. I’ve never dreamed of ascending to that big silent still house on the hill. I am quite happy in my working class neighborhood where you work hard for your lessons. The work for me is the reward, the lessons and dispensing of such, the necessary act to sustain my enjoyment of the work. In other words, I don’t work in order to teach. I teach in order to work. The teaching pays the bills as it were (well, that isn’t really the case as my accountant will testify) so that I can get in there, practice and get back to the manual labor aspect I love.
I think this is the case with any obsessive-compulsive personality type, for which I definitely qualify. We just love to tweak out, and when we are called to the task of results, meaning sharing with the world our findings, we can get a little grumbly. It goes something like, “Well of course I can do that, but why (when there are so many wires down here in the basement that I could be playing with)?”.
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What do you do when you’re caught in a habit that doesn’t work anymore?
“We want to let go, but we habitually hold it together. We hold onto things that, at some point in time, we thought we needed, but suddenly find don’t work anymore. We’re used to knowing what to do, but what we really want is to get to a place where we don’t know anymore.”
“If you pretend that you are easy to get inside of, you will attract low grade players that have no idea of how to penetrate you. You can intoxicate them to stay for awhile, but they will eventually drain you. With each one, you have less and less power to attract someone who could actually give you what you want. This is the result of impatience.”
![[Desire]](http://nicoledaedone.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/fiverkid3.jpg "Desire")
Perhaps I should confess. Sitting across from each woman – I am in silent prayer.
Please God, let it be that she is totally, utterly, completely consumed. By something. Anything. Okay, maybe not sugar or shopping. But let it be that this woman in front of me – this intelligent, put together, gorgeous woman finds herself on her knees tonight, crawling, reaching, yearning, aching and tormented by something she cannot outrun.
Let it be that someone or something reaches up through her pussy, her heart, into her mind and yanks down. Hard. A grip in the center of her soul that re-orients her – forces her to live every moment in relation to that thing. Let her flail against it, rage, ignore, withdraw, cry, pray, beg. And let it be that it remains unmoved and unmovable. Something entirely, for once out of the domain of her control. Let it please take her, trembling and if necessary, humiliated, out of control. View full article »
As long as somebody is irritating to you, you have not penetrated them. Here is a beautiful example from my friends Rob and Rachel. A woman will crank up the volume of complaint until you handle her. She wants you to prove that you will penetrate her no matter how crazy she is. Trying to get away will not save you. But penetrate her and she will be butter.
“You are scared you will stroke her wrong, so you stop stroking. And when you stop, your inaction causes harm. That is the wall you are locked behind in all of your life. You will make terrible mistakes. Make them and clean them up. Because they will never cause as much harm as your inaction.”
From a January one-day intensive, watch me demonstrate the level of attention needed to truly see a woman. “She is offering all of the signals, but they are very very subtle. She is giving you the thread to follow back to her out of control place. You must earn it by noticing.”
