Arts, Activism, Awakening in Mind, Body, & Spirit

activism

NEWS: ArousedWoman Magazine PRE-SALE Premiere Issue or All 6 Issues


ArousedWoman MagazineComing soon!  ArousedWoman Magazine will hit the cyber-newsstands in August 2014.

You can pre-order and get yours reserved for $9.99.  Or get a subscription for all 6 bimonthly issues for just $49.99.

In order to be truly happy, you have to be happy (and healthy) on several levels.   The best way to accomplish this is with solid information so you can make informed decisions about your life, your body, your rights, and your peace of mind in this crazy, hectic world.

AW Magazine will be a digital publication, readable on any computer or mobile device.  The premiere August/September issue will be released in August 2014.

An extension of AW Blog and AW Radio, AW Mag is an in-depth look at various topics for women (and men!), including sex, health, fitness, nutrition, feminism/activism, original erotica, guest writers, spirituality, reviews, and more!

The August/September 2014 issue will feature articles and interviews on the topics:

  • Body image
  • California women’s Reiki healing center
  • Radiant pleasure
  • Finding our way back from patriarchy
  • Goddess-based spirituality
  • The new Atheism
  • Classical Tantra
  • Activist film festivals
  • Revolutionary Feminism
  • Painting female nudes
  • Healing yourself through meditation
  • Knowing your vagina
  • Massage & the importance of touch
  • Breast Health
  • Protecting your clit
  • Orgasm tips
  • New AskTrish letters
  • Sexual health
  • Overall nutrition
  • Recipes
  • Original erotica
  • Guest articles
  • OpEd pieces
  • Reviews
  • AND MORE!

Every issue will have new articles, new guests, new important health coverage, and new original erotica!

Pay using your PayPal account or your credit or debit card:

And please SPREAD THE WORD by sharing the link to this blog post.  Thank you!

trish

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Writing: The Journey from Novel to Screenplay to Stage Play to eBook


Trish Causey's Voices on the Wind Original ScreenplayI’m in the process of re-writing a screenplay I wrote years ago into an e-book novel.  It’s called Voices on the Wind, and the story takes place on Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota.  As you probably already know, I’m a lifelong activist, and one of the areas I’ve always stood up for is the plethora of issues that affect American Indian tribes.  So after a good long time away from this story, I’m re-visiting it … and looking ahead.

I’ve revised the format a few times over the years — it began as a novel, but after four chapters, I stopped because the cost of printing books was just too high (at the time); so I switched gears and wrote it as a film screenplay, which turned out to be a colossus 184 pages.  I thought a film would be great because that would have the biggest potential audience to receive the message … or so I thought at the time.  I even went to the trouble of registering my script with the Writers Guild of America (WGAw) and copyrighting it.  However, the logistics of actually making my script into a film were daunting and expensive — even by the numbers of SAG’s low-budget contracts.

I tried writing VOTW as a novel again, but I simply loathed the process.  My background is in the literary classics.  I haven’t read much in the contemporary book market.  My mother was a literature professor, and my father was a scientist for the government.  My world was nerd-central.  I read Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar and Hamlet by the time I was in 6th grade.  While I loved the plays — probably due to my burgeoning theatre obsession, I loathed the lengthy tomes with endless prose and little dialogue.  The idea of writing descriptive prose was not something I wanted to do.  In fact,  I still have heebie-jeebies from reading Silas Marner in high school.  I mean, did George Eliot really have to spend 2 to 3 pages describing a frickin’ tree?  I say, “No.”

A couple years ago, I had gone back to the revised-revised-finalized-final version of my Voices on the Wind screenplay to adapt it for the stage because I could finally admit that what I really loved was writing dialogue not descriptive paragraphs that go on for pages (this blog notwithstanding).  But I realized that in adapting my story for a screenplay, I had taken out a lot of the scrumptuous dialogue that actors love to deliver for the sake of brevity in the film medium whose motto is “Show.  Don’t tell.”  Well, screw that.  Actors like to talk.  And so do my characters.

Interestingly, in the past 10 years, writing in the mass paperback industry has changed considerably.  People like quick reads, and dialogue helps do that.  Descriptive writing is still necessary, of course, but not at the lengths that used to be the standard.  Also, with the advent of mobile, digital readers, more people than ever can afford to read (e)books because the costs are usually much lower than the physical book.  This means I can get my story into people’s consciousness everywhere, more quickly and less expensively.  Plus, the publishing industry used to be almost impenetrable for new authors; but the digital age has leveled the playing field for writers and placed the advantage squarely in the realm of self-publishing, while the cost of film-making has skyrocketed.

Now, here I am, going back to the tattered, worn, falling apart original 184-page screenplay of Voices on the Wind — barely held together with its tarnished brass brads — to reformat it as an e-book novel for your reading pleasure.  It has been emotional for me to revisit the story as I wrote it originally, to once again dwell in the hearts and minds of my characters whom I love so much.  Some things have changed on Pine Ridge since I was there in 2001, and some things haven’t.  As a writer, it will be such a relief to FINALLY get this story out into the world.

I admit, there is nothing like actually holding a book in your hands as you curl up in a comfy spot with a cool drink and a tray of assorted chocolates nearby.  Nothing will ever really take the place of the physical, printed book.  But for me, the world of the eBook is a great opportunity.  Therefore, the journey continues….

Even better, all these years (and this blog) later, I’m not afraid to write the sex scenes. :-)

trish

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AW Radio: Trish Causey discusses the Supreme Court’s Hobby Lobby verdict on Birth Control


Supreme-Court-Hobby-Lobby-protestersThe Supreme Court has once again determined that women are not people but corporations are and that corporations have more rights under the Constitution that human beings do.

Tune in for “Trish Causey discusses the Supreme Court Hobby Lobby verdict on Birth Control.”

CALL IN to (646) 787-8587 and voice your opinion on this ridiculous verdict, or post your comments in the online chat room.

Be heard!

trish

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DailyOJ 06-23-14: Getting Back Into My Body


nude-woman-in-solitude-peachI can’t believe how long it has been since I wrote my last true DailyOJ post.  It seems like a lifetime ago that I was on my regular meditation and awakening practice, but I felt I needed a break due to everything that was going on.

So on 02-03-14, I took a break from writing here on my ArousedWoman Blog as I officially entered the campaign to be a Congressional candidate.  I had started back to college in October, around the same time I finally decided to run for Congress.  The ensuing months were some of the most mentally stressful I’ve had in a while.  I was over-extended and being pulled in so many different directions — home life, rebounding from the loss of a job, starting my Musical Theatre Magazine for income, going back to college, throwing my hat in the ring for Congress, being a single mom, running this blog, trying to finish other writing and music I had started, my computer crashed in December, starting another fitness certification, and other things I can’t even remember now.  It was just too much.

In April, I had to take a leave of absence from school to focus on my campaign, but the campaign ended June 3rd, when I lost my bid to be the Democratic candidate for my district.  Which is fine.  What I learned about politics taught me that my place is here as an activist.

My second-to-last DailyOJ post was on 09-16-13, so to sit here and realize it has been over 9 months since my last real DailyOJ is just strange.  Nine months is the gestation period of a child, from conception to birth.  This impels me to wonder, what did I give birth to?  What was brewing in the womb of life experience these past nine months?  What did I think I was conceiving?  What do I have to show for this amount of time and work and stress and even grief?

Not much.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped doing yoga.  My three+ miles that I walked every single day rain or shine dwindled down to one on many days, and closer to the primary election, sometimes zero miles.  I had an allergic reaction to some store-bought bread (again), which made me gain weight and inner inflammation that I’m still dealing with.  The stress of fending off the evil ring-wing nut-jobs on social media sent my cortisol levels up, which didn’t help my body at all.  And mostly, I just didn’t like how being in the political arena made me feel as a person.

I’ve worked hard to overcome my natural warrior tendencies, to incorporate more yin wisdom.  But politics is all yang — and not the good aspects of yang.  Politics is an evil, dirty, money-driven business based on extreme competition that I personally found to be destructive on many levels.

For me and my body, what concerned me most was how my energy level dropped.  I don’t mean energy, as in feeling like getting up and going somewhere, I mean my true energy, my life force, my palpable connection to the universe and everything around me that actually matters to me.  Because politics is so based in low-energy matters like money (economy, budget/deficit, jobs, etc.), I felt my energy just fade away.  I no longer felt my energy buzzing up my legs, or my Kundalini spine-zaps that circle around to tickle my face, or the out-of-body heartgasms, or the energy that bounces off my arms when I think about something I love or something that makes me happy or makes me laugh.  Nothing about politics gave me good vibes.  I tried focusing on the fact that I was wanting to help the people of my area, and I focused on being me, not a puppet politician that the media expects a candidate to be.  I spent so much energy deflecting the negativity of the political scene, that I had no energy left over for me, my well-being, and my needs.

I had lost my connection to my body.  When I would try to do a practice session, my mind was on politics.  When I was sleeping at night, I’d wake up at 3 a.m., and think about politics.  Because I was virtually alone in my campaign, it all rested on me to do a good job.  I felt a responsibility to the people who saw themselves represented in me, a progressive liberal candidate in a Red State.

My sessions became less about my practice and solely about trying to have orgasms.  Therein was the major problem.  “Trying” for pleasure is a sure-fire way to ensure true pleasure eludes you.  My orgasms, while still amazing on any orgasm-o-meter, were different.  They were no longer full-body.  They were localized to my genitals.  They were rarely as emotional as I was accustomed to.  I didn’t know my body anymore.  And I couldn’t focus enough on my practice when I had them to raise my energy again.

I will say again as I’ve said before — My “worst” orgasm now is infinitely better, bigger, and more pleasurable than the best orgasm I ever had before my awakening.  But at this point, I’m used to a certain level of mind-blowingemotional orgasmic experience.  Regular, genital-centric orgasms simply will not do.

I’ve also said many times that orgasm is an energy, and when I’m in that energy, it’s like living in a completely different vibration.  I’ve told people the feeling is like orgasm is a higher vibration level, and whenever I’d want a sudden orgasm, I just stand on my tip-toes, and I’m there, in that energy field, and they just happen — whenever, wherever I want them.  My body is amazing.

Or she was … before I got the crazy idea that I should enter politics.

The primary was June 3rd.  I got 44.6% of the votes, but lost.  The follow-up after the campaign lasted about 9 to 10 days, and as voters began to focus on the unfolding dramas elsewhere in the crazy world of Mississippi politics, I bowed out, thinking I’d get back to doing what I do.  This is when my body crashed.  Simply crashed.  I spent a few days in thorough lethargy, allowing my body to release the pent-up exhaustion that had accumulated over the course of nine months on the campaign trail.  This was when I fully realized what I had done to my body and my psyche and my spirit by following a path I had intrinsically known was not for me, but that my activist self thought I could strong-arm my self through — for the greater good, for standing up for our rights, for speaking up for the right thing.  I have always despised politics, and now, I had reaped the lesson of what happens when you don’t listen to your true self.

Now, it’s summer.  I’m not home alone during the day … or night.  So I can’t do a full practice on a regular basis.  I still enjoy my stealth orgasms.  In fact, even my nipple-O’s and stealth clit O’s had begun to wane in intensity.  In the past week, I’ve been trying to get more sleep, and even though I’m still only getting five to six hours of actual sleep, I’m staying in bed to rest a few hours more to get at least eight hours of sleep/rest in so my body can heal.

Because I’m a single mom, I won’t be able to get back to my regular practice until the Fall, but I will do what I can with my stealth O’s through the summer.  That might be a good thing actually — allow my body to finish processing all this politics B.S. and regroup.  I will allow my fire to come back gradually.  I am focusing on positive, life-affirming, creativity-inspiring pursuits, like my new online workshop.  I am ready to help people who want to be helped.  I will get back into a regular yoga practice.  I will dismiss the wheat and sugar that somehow crept back into my diet (and devastated my body).

By August, I should be back to myself — or introduced to my new self, a woman who has learned so much on this journey and who is ready to be aroused in mind, body, and spirit once again.

Aroused and healing,

trish

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OpEd: Summer Solstice – 18 Years a Witch


Trish 2012 -- 1000px Today is June 21, 2014, and it marks 18 years since I self-initiated as a witch.  The ritual took place in my backyard with a number of fellow witch-friends in attendance, along with too many mosquitoes and June Bugs to count.

I had been on this road to witchdom for a couple of years, having searched for a spiritual tradition that was in keeping with my ancient Gaelic ancestors.  I was even in a coven for a while, but their tradition was American eclectic and had way too much Wicca and ceremonial hogwash for my tastes.  Unofficially, I had been on this path my whole life; it had only been a couple years prior to my self-initiation that I had begun to take on the mantle of witch and pagan.

As I related in my Samhain post, being a witch in reality is nothing like what TV and movies pretend it is.  “Witch” is usually used as an insult, particularly against women.  This past Samhain, I bought a sign that says, “You say I’m a Witch … like it’s a bad thing.”  And for me, the word “witch” is utterly fabulous.

The word witch is thought to derive from a Germanic root word that alternately can mean “to be strong” and/or “to know” or “to be wise”.  The term witch was used to refer to the local wise woman, the woman who knew the healing arts, midwivery, burial preparations, and often, relationship advice.  Witches were the keepers of arcane knowledge from birth to death, and that scared the men in charge of Europe’s misogynistic religion and governments.  Insecure men have always feared women’s ability to create life, and that fear was never greater than in the centuries of patriarchal rule before modern science could explain some of the mysteries of human biology.

I have often said that someday I hope to be able to call myself, fully, a witch — to truly be a wise woman.  I’ve found that it takes much more than just calling yourself a witch to actually be a true witch.  I’m not talking about covens and initiations either.  You’re a person who strives to live in a wise way, a beauty way, the “Red Road”, according to the laws of Nature and Karma, or you don’t.

Trish-Causey-Mississippi-Pagan-Pride-Day-2004Many arguments can be made over who is a real witch and who isn’t.  That’s another reason I left a coven and ventured out on my own.  I just wanted to do what felt right to me and was in keeping with my Irish and Scottish heritage.  Along the way, I’ve studied many religions, and I’m particularly smitten with the teachings of Indian religions as they pertain to enlightenment, reincarnation, and expansion of universal consciousness.  While I will call myself an Energist, for reasons I’ll explain in another post, there is no actual name for what I do — it’s just Trish Witchyness.

Recently, an instructor from Pittsburgh University interviewed me for some doctoral work he is doing.  He wanted to know about my spiritual path and how I do my “thang” as a solitary witch.  We talked for several hours over the course of a few days, and it was a great conversation that brought back many memories along my journey.

I recounted a tale from when I was a child, about seven years old, when my mother wanted me to stop making mud pies in the backyard to get ready for church.  I asked why we had to go to church.  She said it was to worship god in his house.  I asked her why we had to go to church to worship god because a church was made by men while the earth and water I was concocting into mud pies was actually made by god.  Furious that I was questioning her religious bullshit, she growled for me to get inside and get cleaned up, and away to man’s building we went.

When I was nine, I was forced to become Catholic.  I knew instinctively the church was evil.  Maybe it was a past-life memory of being burned at the stake or something … or being an observant child, I could see through the hypocrisy and the double standards of the Catholic church when my mother, the recreational martyr, fell for all of it hook, line, and sinker.  One day when I was 10, I asked one of the priests, “Which is worse: always to believe and never to question, or always to question and never to believe?”  He sputtered, clearly unable to answer me, then a moment later began spewing some dogmatic drivel that I could tell even he knew was inadequate.

I hated the Catholic church, I hated my mother, I hated Catholic school, I despised it all.  When I was 17, I graduated from Catholic school, and I vowed never to return to the church.  I almost did not attend my best friend’s wedding because it was a wedding mass.  So was my sister’s.

At age 17, my life changed when I met an American Indian ballet dancer at a major competition.  His poetry about his spirit animal connected directly to the heart of me.  But I’m not Indian.  He suggested I begin searching for answers with my heritage, and so my journey into the incredible world of the Gaelic people and spirituality began.  I knew I was home as I learned more and more about pre-Christian Ireland and Scotland.  Even with the invasion of Christianity on the Gaelic peoples, many of the traditional stories and customs had survived.  Considering how much of the pagan culture was absorbed and outright stolen by the Christian church, finding the links back to pre-Christian European spirituality is doable and documentable.

When I was 21, I volunteered with a ballet company in New Orleans.  One day, I decided to go inside a huge cathedral — St. Patrick’s, I think it was.  I went to one of the last pews and knelt.  And waited.  And waited.  And waited.  I looked around.  Nothing.  I bowed my head.  Nothing.  I looked at the shiny brass and gold trinkets, and the porcelain statues, and the stained glass, and the wooden reproduction of Jesus on the cross.  And felt nothing.  I began crying.  Because I felt nothing.  I left.  Still crying.  I wanted to belong somewhere, and this was never going to be it.

Trish Causey Autumn Queen CollageI didn’t have a name for what I was or what I believed at that time.  About a year later, a theatre friend asked if I’d heard of Wicca.  I hadn’t, but when I looked into it at the library and bookstore (this was pre-internet), I resonated with some of what I read, but not all of it.  Some of Wicca seemed as regimented and hierarchical as the dogmatic church I despised.  Turns out that Wicca was founded by two former Anglicans.  And as another friend used to joke, “Episcopal is just Catholic with an ‘E’.”

It was that journey (and the dawn of the internet) that allowed me to find other soul-path querents who go by many names: Wicca, Witches, Pagans, Neo-Pagans, Druids, Eclectic, Ceremonial Witches, Asatru, etc.  Too many to list.  The coven didn’t work out, but it allowed me to see what I didn’t want on my path.  I left in the Spring, and it was that Summer Solstice that I held my self-initiation in my backyard on June 21, 1996.

Walking the witchy path has not been easy, especially considering I live in Mississippi.  Being “out of the broom closet” has been a challenge from Day 1.  I have endured personal taunts and threats, rude comments left on my vehicle (thanks to my “Born Again Pagan” bumper sticker) whenever I went to the store, work, the post office, the gas station.  I even lost a job because I wasn’t Christian.  But like any other closet a person chooses to come out of, being free trumps being a slave to the ignorance of others, especially here in the Bible Belt.

Witchcraze-by-Trish-Causey-ASCAP-sq-300I composed a musical, Witchcraze, to correlate the terrorizing good ol’ boys of the Bush regime with the torturous witch trial masterminds of 1692 Salem.  Having studied in depth the arrest warrants, the trial transcripts, and the re-trial transcripts, I can say for a fact that nothing I have endured comes close to what was done to the women of previous centuries, when “witch” was a label that carried heinous torture and a death sentence.

So, I’m a witch.  And I’m a pagan.  And an Energist.  And a tarot card reader.  And a Libra.  And a Tatrika and yogini.  And a composer, and a nerd, and a bookworm, and a Democrat, and a Streisand devotee, and a single-mom, and a wannabe chef and cafe-owner, and a kettlebell enthusiast, and I’m right-handed.  Pick any of those labels, and someone is going to have a problem with me because of how they perceive that word and what they think it stands for.

I am a writer: a lover of words and sounds and syllables.  I know what “witch” means, and to me, witch is a beautiful word.  Witch is a sacred word.  Witch is a word women (and men) have died for, and it is a word I choose for my goal in this lifetime: to be a wise woman, to be a strong woman, to live a life of expansion and understanding.  Most of all, hearing or seeing the word witch makes me feel something.  I feel a connection to all the women (and men) who defied oligarchical, elitist oppression to live and die free as freethinkers and religious and political dissenters.  And that makes my activist heart proud.

Aroused and witchy,

trish

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