Carrying arousal is a responsibility. Not a burden, but a calling, an art, a practice, an offering. Not everyone knows how to play. But for those who do, it is the most exhilarating force on earth.

But the sky dancer knows—flight is accessed only on the wings of yes. As, I might add, is courage. Yes. That. I did that. I wanted that. I pleaded for that. To own it all—all of it—that is the skeleton key to the secret world.

What if jealousy is not something to get rid of, but something to use? What if it isn’t a block to arousal, but a pathway into it?

To be special is to be separate. And to be separate is to be exiled from the current of life.

I am one of the few women I know who has been able to make the journey back to a woman’s native terrain.

The sensing organ of consciousness, when it has no residue, will have untold, accurate sensitivity.

We keep asking, Is it monogamy or polyamory? Is it openness or commitment? But there is another question, one that dissolves the illusion entirely: What happens when you stop searching for a framework to hold love—and instead step into love itself?

Freedom isn’t about cutting things out—it’s about expanding.

Lying is a beginner’s game. It is always about one thing: decreasing sensation.

There’s a meme that is making the rounds through the modern discourse on women and sexual energies. It borrows the language of empowerment, the aesthetics of spiritual propriety, and the authority of ancient wisdom. But underneath it, a familiar story is being rewritten—one that has existed since time immemorial to keep women in their place.

Most people are picking 
their love stories from
the dollar bin, not realizing there’s another reality available. They sift through the same recycled tropes, bargaining with themselves over which
scraps to settle for. 

In erotic relating, we seek to experience all parts of ourselves and the other.
Archetypes move through us constantly, some familiar, some strangers at the door.