Last week, I wrote about my discovery from sex coaching that I’ve been putting off pleasure. All kinds of pleasure. I resist life’s sensory delights and don’t stay present for the good feeling parts. That was a big revelation.

This week, my coach said, “it sounds like you don’t trust it.”

(Imagine me dumbfounded…and a little sad.) She’s right.

The story under the hood was that I didn’t deserve it. I already have so many blessings, it would be UNFAIR for me to also ENJOY them. 

UMMMMYEAH, it’s absurd. It’s obvious when I write it down. Of course this is not my philosophy. I don’t believe this for myself. I don’t believe this for anyone.

But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s been living in my body. And I’ve made all kinds of excuses to keep it there.

Right now as I’m typing, I’m thinking, REALLY? I’m going to put these words on a page for people to read? 

Yes. Because if I don’t, I’m letting it stay in the shadows and in power. If I don’t, I’m putting a story about myself above my actual self. 

I’m done protecting an idea about who I’m supposed to be, over my living, breathing human body.

Where did this idea even come from? I’m sure working hard to uphold it. Is it mine? Or is it a parasite I let in to make myself small enough for someone else’s ego? (Guys, it’s the second one.)

It’s been there for a long time. It’s taken a long time to get myself to the point of declaring it openly. It’s taken a long time to start getting help about it. It’s scary to take the CHANCE I could trust pleasure.

And while I can’t dig out overnight, what I CAN do overnight (overday, overblog) is make this declaration to myself, loud and clear: 

I am no longer feeding the story that I don’t deserve my blessings.

I trust pleasure.

WHEW. It’s scary to say because it makes it real.

Writing is powerful. It helps me crystallize my thoughts and make them real.

I like writing as a poem or a prayer. Things I hope. Things I feel. Things I want to make real.

I hope this gets you closer to whatever you want to make real.

I deserve to be closer to Me.

Closer to the Heart that never stops beating in this chest. 

Closer to the Blood that never stops pumping, never stops feeding, never stops cleaning, never stops trying. 

Let me see the abundance of invisible thread holding us together, 

so I can remember, I am never alone. 

Someone touched everything around me.

Someone sewed, someone washed, someone dreamed, someone sweat. 

Someone cared, to create my world. 

It is here. And I belong.

Help me be humbled by all that is meant for me.

Help me receive with grace so I may share with generosity.

May I shine my light fearlessly, so others may see through the dark.

May I be fearless in asking others to show me through the dark.

May I clear the wounds that block reciprocation and connection.

May I be righteous in my pursuit of pleasure.

May I know my true gifts.

May I feel them so my cup may be full. 

May all of our cups be full. 

Full, 

full, 

full.

I was planning a blog post about a time this week when I had to set down my expectations and get out of my own way…but something else came out instead, so I had to set down my expectations and get out of my own way. How appropriate. I ended up writing what I needed in that moment: something to help me get in the mood to create when I’m feeling uninspired or resistant. And so, here is my prayer to creativity. I hope it blesses you with a SPARK!

wherever i come from,

willing or…less,

an idea on my soul,

or nothing, just yet.

may the gods crowd around me

and fill up my chest.

may my heart be wide open

to inspiration’s breath.

let my mind be a servant

to gather, then rest,

to surrender its fears

and its thoughts of what’s “best.”

i’m lighting a candle

and making the bed,

so something more precious

can lay down instead.

i’m scattering petals,

a rainbow of colors,

so creativity knows

it belongs in these covers.

i’m singing sweet songs

to entice all the lovers.

to show them it’s safe,

i brought plenty of rubbers.

this is a place 

to be wild and free,

for everything silly 

and sacred to meet.

closing my eyes,

i bough to the tree.

i’m ready to give life

to what’s coming through me.