To dispel the “St.Patrick” myth bullshit, here are some FACTS:
1) Padraic was Roman NOT Irish/Gaelic.
2) No archaeological evidence of snakes has EVER been found in Ireland because Ireland is COLD.
3) Though Rome was in decline, the church was on the rise. Padraic was sent by the Christian church to convert the pagans/heathens/Gaelic ne’er-do-wells to the state religion of the failing Roman Empire: Christianity. As became typical of the Christian church, their marketing campaign was “Convert to Jesus or die.” Did the church really want to save souls? Of course, not. The first-century Romans actually detested the Irish and Scottish bands of Gaels, as well as the Picts (in what is now Scotland). The Romans built Hadrian’s Wall to keep these rough barbarians from sullying their newly conquered Britannia. Then why were the Irish and Scottish so important to the Roman church a few centuries later? The church needed more people in its clutches to pay tithes and penances to fund its expansion and “crusades” (killing people in Jesus’ name).
Padraic used traditional Gaelic spirituality to correlate the Christian narrative of Iesus’ (Jesus) birth, life, and death, thus conning the Irish into accepting Christianity to go alongside with the indigenous Gaelic beliefs. Thus began the systematic assimilation of a male trinity (supplanting the female trinity of the goddess culture of Ireland) as well as the now prevalent misogynistic patriarchal culture that has overtaken all matriarchal cultures in the Western world.
Remember, Jesus was killed by the Romans, and Padraic (Patrick) was a Roman infiltrator (emphasis on “traitor”) to “convert” Ireland’s pagans from their indigenous spirituality to the indoctrination and assimilation of the patriarchal imperial regime, whose intolerance, misogyny, and hypocrisy are still felt to this day via the anti-woman Catholic Church and even the rise of religious fundamentalism in America.
To learn about the indigenous spirituality of Ireland, watch the BBC program, “Sacred Wonders of Britain,” which looks at the sacred sites, the goddess culture, and the history of the native peoples of the British isles — before Christianity and the Germanic influx ruined it all.
So there you have it. Please stop acting like “Patrick” did something good for Ireland. He didn’t. Patrick was a crucial part of the suppression of Ireland’s indigenous culture. Wake up.
…. and if you’re going to shorten his name, it’s St. Paddy’s, NOT St. Patty’s.
…. and don’t get me started on use of the word “Celtic” to describe anything Irish or Scottish….
Erin (and paganism) go Bragh!
Jamie McCartney is a British artist who created an art installation piece of plaster casts called “The Great Wall of Vagina”. On his website are images of the entire installation along with the motto, “Changing female body image through art”.
His website explains the art piece:
The 9 metre long polyptych consists of four hundred plaster casts of vulvas, all of them unique, arranged into ten large panels. McCartney set out to make this project as broad and inclusive as possible. The age range of the women is from 18 to 76. Included are mothers and daughters, identical twins, transgendered men and women as well as a woman pre and post natal and another one pre and post labiaplasty.
One of the many reasons I love this piece is because when I directed/ produced a production of The Vagina Monologues in 2006, one of the comments repeatedly mentioned by women who auditioned was how much they hate what their vagina looks like. Of course, they were actually referring to the vulva — as does this art piece (hint: the vagina is the inside part). Only one female at the auditions, a 24 year old girl who had not yet had kids, said she loved how her vulva looked like a beautiful flower. One woman said her “vagina” was ugly because she’d had 4 kids. Frankly, I don’t think most women know what our genitals are supposed to look like because our perception is skewed by porn and skin mags.
The month that I turned 40, I took pictures of my vulva and saw my vulva for the very first time ever (not counting when I was in labor and saw my daughter’s head crowning in the mirror up on the wall of the delivery room — I’m nearsighted so I couldn’t really see it). Turning 40, I wanted to love my body visually the way I adore my body sensually. But seeing my vulva pics, I burst into tears because she looked so different than what I envisioned. My fair-skinned legs and rosy labia were not what I’m accustomed to seeing because most of the women I’ve seen in erotic photos are tan. Then there was my clitoral hood and the shape of my inner labia…. I thought, “WHY would a man like this?! I look so different….”
I deleted the pics immediately. But I took some more pictures the next day, and this time I didn’t cry. I guess I was getting accustomed to seeing what I look like. I sent the pics to 3 guy friends I could trust to tell me the truth, and each one said my vulva was beautiful. I was really annoyed with myself that I felt I needed that kind of validation, especially from men, but men know vulvas, and they know what men like in a juicy yoni. And frankly, if I’d sent my pics to other women, would the women have been grossed out because they likewise have little clue what “vaginas” are supposed to look like?
As I continued to look at my vulva pictures (and even took some more), it was amazingly empowering to know and love my genitals and not compare mine to women in porn or magazines. Aside from the genital grooming that is prolific in erotic photography, many people don’t realize that porn performers often have cosmetic surgery to alter their genitals, including labioplasty to make the labia smaller or conform to some ridiculous notion of what labia are “supposed” to look like.
This brings me to my point and yet another aspect of healing women’s body image. There is NO one way a vulva is supposed to look. Every vulva is different. Comparing vulvas is like comparing snowflakes — each one is unique and beautiful in her own way.
I think McCartney’s work is very important for a few reasons. One, he cast all sorts of women when making his plaster art, and you see all sorts of labia shapes and sizes (and piercings!) represented. Also, because the work is in plaster as opposed to photography or paint, race is not an issue, and all the vulvas can be appreciated without an ingrained idea that “white chick” vulvas are more pleasing to the eye.
Check out McCartney’s website to see the many other panels in this art installation.
- Contact Trish for a consult
- Sign up for the ArousedWoman newsletter
- Take the ArousedWoman Orgasm Questionnaire
In my Social Activism class, my professor posted this video, and it’s so fabulous, I have to share it with all of you.
Introducing FotoShop by Adobe`. Dramatic results on wrinkles, cellulite, & all sorts of other flaws real women aren’t allowed to have. Enjoy!
To start the New Year off right, the universe sent me an experience to remind me the work here is not yet done. Thankfully, it was not violent, but it was annoying to see how far women still have to go on the path of being respected.
A few days ago, I needed to go to the store, but I realized I was going to miss the bus at the time I wanted to go, so I made sure I caught the next pick-up. Had I caught the bus I wanted, I would not have witnessed the interchange that occurred on the bus I got on.
I sat in the only available seat, the one behind the driver. I like this driver; she’s very nice and tolerates the annoying passengers well. As we ambled along, I could hear a woman four rows behind me tell someone, “No. Stop touching me.” Then she giggled. I assumed it was a man doing the unwanted touching. A few seconds later, again, “No. Stop touching me there.” I heard him murmur something as she sort of laughed. Again, she said the same words, but more insistently, “No. Stop touching me.” The half-hearted laugh was faint. Again, the guy murmured something to her, his tone obviously trying to convince her that she should let him continue to do what he was doing.
As I sat, facing the front, my ears were piqued. The bus passengers were quiet, each one keeping to himself or herself. No one seemed to be bothered by this interchange. She was giving off little giggles at first, but my ears heard something else. I heard a woman who is saying “No” and then apologizing by laughing, so as not to offend him even though this man was violating her personal space and her right to body autonomy.
Even for myself, I thought, If it’s actually a problem, wouldn’t someone who’s closer to them speak up? Wouldn’t someone who can see what’s going on stop this guy? Were they confused by her laughter? Could they not hear that the giggle was a mask of her true feelings?
I kept listening. Their interchange continued, but it was different. Her refutations grew more loud and more insistent. “NO. STOP touching me.” No giggling. He murmured, laughing to himself. “NO! STOP touching me THERE.” No giggling. He laughed again. “NO! STOP touching me!”
I whisked around in my seat, sitting slightly taller to make sure they could see me over the two rows between us, and I said very loudly where everyone can hear, “Do you need the bus driver to call the police for you?” Stunned, she looked at me. So did he. They were both in their 30′s. He had one arm around her shoulders and the other on her torso. She was by the window. She was pinned in. I know that feeling of being trapped by a man with no way to get out. Now, I was really pissed off.
I continued, “We’ve all heard you tell him five or six times to stop touching you and he hasn’t. That’s assault,” then I looked at him but talked to her, “And he can go to jail.” She looked at him, her eyebrows arched, yet said nothing. But he did. “We were just playing,” he smiled. Clearly, he still thought it was a game.
I responded,”‘No’ and ‘Stop’ are not playing a game. We all heard her tell you five or six times to stop touching her. When a woman says ‘No,’ she means ‘No.‘”
He replied, “Yes, ma’am,” almost sheepishly.
I turned back around in my seat, still pissed off at the situation, pissed off at her for not giving him an elbow to his nose, pissed off at every other passenger who had said nothing.
The bus driver pulled up to the local grocery story, and this couple was the first to exit the bus. Then someone else exited, while I debated continuing with my plan to shop at this store or continue on the route to Wal-mart. I loathe Wal-mart. More importantly, I wanted to make sure she was okay — that he wouldn’t do something to her once they were away from people. So I got off the bus there. As I did, he sort of glared at me, and she sort of tried not to look at me. It was a very strange moment, but I walked by with my head held high and continued on inside the store.
It so happened that they almost crossed paths with me a couple of times in the store. She was looking around at what she wanted. When he saw me, his eyes darted away. But I did notice that she kept about a foot of distance between them. Every time he tried to get close to her, she moved away. I could only hope that she was okay.
I finished my shopping, and got the bus the next time it came by. The bus was empty except for one passenger and the bus driver. As I put my $1.25 in the machine, the bus driver exclaimed, “Okay, tell me what happened!”
She had been unaware of what was going on until the woman had said “STOP touching me THERE.” This was about the time I spoke up, so she heard my comment about calling the police. The bus driver told me, “I couldn’t see what was going on, but the bus has cameras, and I was ready to call the police after I heard you. But you turned around, so I figured I’d check on it when we came to a stop, but they got off.”
Ironically, the bus driver was worried about me. “He didn’t say anything to you did he? Are you all right?” I assured her I was fine, and I had been concerned about the woman. She replied, “Yeah, you always worry about that — what happens when they get home.”
Exactly. This is the same reason some people are afraid to correct a parent for being mean or even abusive to their kids in a public place — you worry what the parents will do to the kids at home. (I have also spoken out on these certain occasions, the most recent being a woman who came back at me with her fist raised ready to punch me in the face for telling her grandmother not to yell at her infant.)
At the next stop, a couple of the passengers from the last trip got back on the bus. As they saw me, sitting on the front seat on the right side of the bus, they laughed a knowing laugh, and the entire bus ride centered around the incident. I’ve seen these people many times before on the bus, and they had been closer to the man and woman. So I was curious, “What was he doing? Why didn’t anyone speak up?”
One woman said, “She was laughing. I thought she was okay. He was just playing.” I said, “No, her laugh wasn’t a real laugh. It was a nervous giggle and a fake laugh.” I wasn’t imagining this. I could tell.
The bus driver even had insight to the matter. “When you said that to them, she didn’t speak up in his defense. If he really had been playing and she didn’t mind what he was doing, she would have defended him. But she didn’t say a word. Not a word.”
Without seeing the incident, I could only go by what I could hear. It sounded like a woman being harassed or assaulted and giving a nervous laugh, as women do when they’re trying to maneuver their body away from a man they don’t want touching them. The bus driver couldn’t see the incident, but she knew something was amiss by what she didn’t hear — the woman defending him. The woman was silent. As so many of us are.
I made the comment, “She may have felt she had to put up with it becaasue she’s in a relationsghip with him. The reason I felt I had to speak up wasn’t just for him to leave her alone, but so she could hear from another woman that what he was doing was wrong. In case she needed permission to speak up.”
I made the point then in talking with the bus driver, and I’ll make it here now. When a woman says, “No,” she means, “No.” When a woman says, “Stop,” you stop.
Even if you’re in a relationship or legally married, he does not own you or your body. You are your own, autonomous human being with rights to self-determination. Just because you’re in a relationship with a man does not mean you give up your rights to yourself.
Tantra is comprised of two words which mean instrument and expansion, so Tantra is a tool by which you can expand your understanding of the universe, both macrocosmically and microcosmically. On the macrocosmic level, you can endeavor to find the meaning of it all, how you fit in with the universe, why you are here, or why any of this physical experience exists. On the microcosmic scale, Tantra can be your daily grounding in being the best person you can be, expanding your heart to show compassion for others, and being an example to others of how to live in harmony with Nature and honor the Feminine.
In practical terms, making New Year’s resolutions both align with and are in opposition to Tantra. You might want to set out goals for the year, perhaps employing lessons you learned from the previous year. Yet, a Tantrika knows the most important moment is this one. Now. Not last year. Not later this year. Now. Be mindful of this moment. With no attachment. Goalless. No competition. No self-loathing. No comparison to how you looked 20 years ago. How you want to look in six months. No guilt for how you failed on previous goals. No iron-will determination set forth to finally accomplish a lapsed milestone. No trying to change another person so they will love you as you wish they loved you.
Resolutions can be futile because few people can live their lives within the boundaries of absolutes. Making resolutions ahead of time means trying to live your life in a resolute, determined manner. You’re thinking in the future, trying to avoid your past. This is hardly “being in the moment” or being open to experiences or needed lessons. Instead of making individual resolutions, make an overall path to follow for the year by setting out to pursue an idea of learning, growing, experiencing, and allowing yourself the chance to make mistakes and learn from them.
Rather than making a resolution to lose weight or make more money, set forth a path of being a healthier person, being a better person, or just being happier. I, for one, think most overweight people are overweight because of other issues, not food. Food is the drug of choice to numb pain or feed stress, but it is still just the coping mechanism. Beneath the layers of blubber are other issues to be addressed and resolved. Be resolute in solving the mental, emotional, and psychological reasons for eating unhealthily first, then address the addiction of the habitual eating.
Dealing with the impetus of stress and unhappiness is always difficult, but even here, do not attach yourself to the problem or the stress itself. Remove yourself from the immediacy of the issue, step back, and determine how you can make the situation different so you can be happy and healthy and prosperous. If you can’t, perhaps it’s time to move on. No crash diet or extreme workout regimen will offer long-term results. Getting to the root of unhappiness will forge a path of moving on and starting anew.
You are not your mistakes.
Your best resolution is to be a good, compassionate human being. All choices will expand outward from that perspective in the moment, each and every moment, perfectly.
Happy New Year and Merry Resolutionlessness,
Samhain means “Summer’s End”, and October 31st is a night to honor those who have crossed over. Most cultures that are close to their indigenous roots have rituals such as this. For Northwestern European indigenous culture (and those of us of that descent), Samhain is a very special, sacred time.
For some background, Halloween is NOT rooted in paganism or witchcraft. The devil, demons, and evil spirits are a Judeo-Christian fantasy. The word “witch” comes from the Proto-Indo-European word wig- which means “wise” and was used to refer to “wise women”, the healers and keepers of life’s mysteries. This is the reason that misogynist imperialists have always hated and feared women. “Pagan” comes from the Latin paganus, which means “country dweller”, and was used by the Romans to refer to the indigenous clans of Europe. For clarification, the Romans were NOT pagans; in the Roman Empire, the walled cities — urbs, were home to Roman citizens — civiem (from which we get the words civil, civilized, civilization). The walled cities were built to keep the indigenous tribal pagans OUT and away from Roman citizens. This is how “pagans” (the indigenous clans) came to be thought of by the church as un-civilized; they were literally un-citied — the pagans did not live within the walled cities of Rome with the civiem.
Back to the present, one of the most prolific visages at this time of year happens to be decorations, candies, and costumes featuring a green-faced witch. Some say, it’s just a comic take on something that’s not real. They say it’s a joke, a harmless costume.
I completely disagree.
When you buy products that feature a green-faced witch with a crooked nose & ragged hair, you are perpetuating misogyny.
The mass public is thoroughly confused about witchcraft and witches. In regard to paganism and witchcraft, too many people think witchcraft is either evil (thanks to the medieval church) or whiz-bang fireworks (thanks to TV, film, and Harry Potter). This is why we activists have to speak out against the ingrained prejudices. Sadly, most people do not know they are being misogynistic, thanks to the imperial patriarchal culture of the past 2,500 years. And so, we continue to speak up and speak out until all of humanity is educated and the healing begins.
Posting some of this information on my Facebook profile, one friend (yes, an actual, in-real-life friend) made this surprising comment:
All I can do is laugh. Halloween has always been about fun in my lifetime, people overthinking things and getting offended over nothing is what the problem is. Look at all the BS going on about peoples costumes, it’s Halloween, that’s what people do, dress up in costumes that depict something they are not. get over it lol [sic]
The getting offended part may have referred to American Indian activists protesting Halloween costumes that include “Indian braves” and Pocahontas. Odd, since my actual friend is actually Cheyenne. Just goes to show how insensitivity to other people’s oppression is prevalent regardless of personal identity.
For my response, I gave a brief overview and background of the Witch Trials, which I researched extensively for my musical, Witchcraze.
The perception of what witches look like stems from the witch trials of Europe and the New World colonies. Wise women — witches — were a common part of rural society, but the height of the Dark Ages saw the first Witch Trials in the early 14th century, when Pope John XXII declared in 1326 that the inquisition could investigate accusations of witchcraft. When the printing press was invented and mass printing was available, woodcuts of witches riding brooms and attending sabats became a familiar sight in print, fueling the burgeoning stereotype of witches. Another damning factor for women as knowledgeable healers came with the rise of medicine and men commandeering the healing arts. Wise women who still treated patients became suspect of all sorts of calamities during the late Middle Ages, as various epidemics afflicted both humans and livestock. If someone or some thing died, people blamed the local witch. As medieval Europe recovered from the fall of Rome and established institutionalized rule within its new kingdoms and expanded the institutionalized dogma of the male-dominated, woman-subjugating Christian church, the witch went from a place of respect in a community to a source of shame and suspicion.
The witch trials were brutal to say the least. By the time most people saw a “witch”, it was for her public trial or execution (re-trial). This happened after she had been imprisoned and tortured for months. The witch hunters and those in charge of gaining confessions from the accused used all means of violence against the women, including rape, beatings, joint breakers like thumbscrews and the strappado which broke the women’s shoulders, the iron maiden, boiling water, boiling oil, to name just a few. The beatings left their faces severely bruised and swollen, hence the green discoloration, and misshapen as their facial bones were broken and not reset properly, a feature that is caricatured by a large, crooked nose and overly emphasized cheekbones and jaw. The missing teeth of the commercialized witch are a nod to the real witches having their teeth punched out during beatings for a confession. The witches hunched posture and misshapen fingers are also part of the legacy of beatings, their backs and shoulders were severely injured while their hands were crooked and disjointed. Their voices raspy due to choking torture and dehydration.
My comment to my friend:
So you may not see what harm there is in buying green-faced witch merchandise, but for those of us who know what it means, it represents misogynist evil. So there is nothing for me to “get over”. I will continue to educate people on the truth.
To which he responded:
I’m well aware of what happened in those times, not a good time for people, women and men, who were accused of witchcraft. Education is a great thing or we wouldn’t be where we are today but come on, I’m not going to turn away a child because he or she is wearing a green faced witch costume.
You do not aim scorn at the kids; after all, hate and prejudice have to be carefully taught (to paraphrase South Pacific). It’s the adults who need educating so they don’t continue the cycle of misinformation and stereotypes to another generation.
So I speak up, and I speak out. I love sporting a witchy hat when I can, and “looking like a witch” is something I do every single day — just by being me.
P.S. I’ll save talking about the sexualization of witches, the pentagram, and Christians stealing Yule from the pagans for another time.
Today, I paused at 9:29 am, the time Hurricane Katrina went over my house 8 years ago and changed everything I knew about life and home. The power had gone off at 5:31 a.m., and we spent the next 12 hours riding out the storm, in the hallway, hearing parts of the roof breaking off, hearing parts of the neighbors’ houses breaking off and crashing into ours, and thinking the whole house was going to fly off the foundation as the 200-mile wide storm passed over, sounding like a hundred angry freight trains ready to rip us to shreds.
After it was over, we were alive and unhurt. There was damage to the house inside and out as well as to the property. We survived when others did not. We had 4 walls standing when others did not. I felt guilty.
For weeks after, we got our food by standing in distribution lines for hours in the 94-degree sun. We ate MRE’s — the military’s Meals Ready to Eat, and I felt guilty for eating food meant for our soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan. Soldiers just back from combat arrived to clear roads and hand out food and water to the adults and stuffed animals to the kids, including my daughter. One soldier just off the plane from Iraq told me the Mississippi Gulf Coast looked worse than Baghdad. These soldiers should have been home with their families, and I felt guilty we needed them more.
Our first responders went through hell emotionally and psychologically as search and rescue missions became search and recover. I felt guilty I couldn’t help them. I met firefighters from New York — if anyone knew about dealing with a disaster, these men did. I had seen the rubble of the World Trade Center in February 2003. I told them I couldn’t believe they were here to help us when they were still hurting. I felt guilty even more.
Then-President Bush was on vacation in Texas when Katrina happened. He remained on vacation for 5 days, while people here on the Mississippi Gulf Coast went without food or water for 4 days. Within a couple days of the storm, the National Guard arrived, after having had to chainsaw and remove over 2 miles of downed trees on the main highway into the Coast, so they could start bringing in supplies to the Coast’s 150,000 residents.
When the power was restored in my neighborhood on September 10th at 8:41 p.m., I instantly tried to get online. I found my show’s cast was safe, albeit scattered around the country — one guy even evacuated to Australia. I was informed I was listed on the Red Cross’ website under Missing or Dead. I emailed my director mentor in New York to let him know I was okay, but he asked what I meant. I told him we had gone through Hurricane Katrina. He said, “No, Katrina hit New Orleans. I haven’t heard anything about Mississippi in the news.”
The media was only covering New Orleans, whose levees broke the day after Katrina. Mississippi was barely mentioned. No one knew what we were going through, and I was pissed. And I still am. Even the Washington Post ran an OpEd piece saying all federal disaster funds should go to New Orleans, and that if Mississippi, Alabama, or Texas took any federal emergency aid, we were stealing from the poor people of Louisiana. The writer — all of America — didn’t know the truth about what happened.
Hurricanes break up once they hit land, spawning tornadoes, but Katrina was still classified as a Cat 1 hurricane as it went over northern Mississippi, over 350 miles north of the coastline. Later, weather geeks argued that Katrina was “only” a Category 3 storm — as if that changed the damage inflicted or the lives lost. Hurricane Katrina was a HUGE storm. And Mississippi took the full brunt of Katrina. We didn’t wait for people to give us hand-outs. We didn’t have mayors getting on TV demanding the government clean up our towns. We just helped each other and began cleaning up debris.
Volunteers from around the world arrived to help, and we owe them. The volunteers were the key to our survival.
On the 5th anniversary of Katrina, I moved out of my bad marriage and settled in the artists’ hamlet called Ocean Springs, MS. The recovery of Katrina has been difficult for everyone, and for those of us still dealing with the PTSD of the experience, emotions can still get the best of us sometimes. But every day is a welcomed blessing.
The month of August is a tenuous time here. Baby boomers remember Hurricane Camille, the storm that was supposed to be the storm to end all storms. They never expected to see another one, or see one that was worse. Hearing the stories of Camille, those of us who came after that storm figured we’d never see anything like it. Katrina took us all by surprise.
I know the U.S. hates Mississippi, but many wonderful people here were devastated by Katrina in ways you can’t know unless you also have been in a horrible disaster. I will commemorate Katrina by being grateful for being alive to tell the tale and let the world know the people here in Mississippi are survivors. And for that, I am proud.
Copyright 2013 by Trish Causey.
Why now? As I said, this is Post #222, and in numerology this has some significance. 222 reduced is 6, which is the Lovers’ card in the Major Arcana of the Tarot. What many people do not realize is that the Lovers card is not about true love, but about a union — that might be love, but also could be a friendship, a congenial business partnership, or something nice coming into your present situation.
In the Tarot, the real true love card is the 2 of Cups. The Cups suit embodies emotion, and the 2 signifies two people coming together in deep, true love.
The problem with love is that most people confuse “in love” with lust (the chemical reaction in the brain to pheromones bouncing off each other’s skin) and rate “real love” according to the size of a status-symbol ring chained to a religious-fabricated commitment that is unrealistic for most human mammals.
Poets have expounded upon the premise of love for millennia, usually with the caveat, “I’ll love you until the heavens fall and the oceans dry up… or a meteor hits the earth and we’re all obliterated from time and space….” Essentially, the Romantics clocked love’s ability to withstand natural disasters about as well as the Gulf handles Category 5 hurricanes.
In our society, we freely say how much we love our stuff. “I love my house.” “I love my car.” “I love that TV show.” “I love that dress!” “I love those SHOES!!!” “I love chocolate.” “I love my dog.” “I love my squirrel!”
By the time we get around to saying “I love you,” the concept of love now has a price tag and a sense of status in the physical world that has nothing to do with the emotion itself.
Other languages have certain customs for using their version of the word “love,” usually with other options for expressing affection of friends, possessions, and familial loved ones separate from the word that intends to express true, deep love. American English kinda sucks.
Our American language is lacking not only because of lexicon and syntax but also because our culture is taught to use “love” as leverage, as a bargaining chip, to get the upper hand, to force our partner into emotional submission and thereby gain superiority within the relationship. Love becomes a game. Later, love becomes a contest. That no one can win.
Then come the ultimatums. “IF YOU LOVED ME, you would __(fill in the blank to complete emotional blackmail)__.”
Blinded by the brainwashing of our materialistic society and the fantasy world of romance novels and films, most people are clueless how to truly love another person in a relate-tionship. That is, a partnership in which two people actively relate to each other.
Love is energy. Just like orgasms….. Love is free…. just like orgasms………. Love is endless and constantly giving……………. just like orgasms.
Love is not thought. Love is not construct. Love is not rational.
Love does not have a schedule.
Love is intangible and immeasurable. Love is unconditional.
Love is easy.
I’ve read that it takes 2.5 years for “in love” to mature to “love-love.” Basically, you wait to see if your emotional selves have created a bond now that your lusty pheromones are immune to each other… the way bugs become immune to Raid.
I don’t see any reason for the passion ever to leave a relationship, but for many couples, the passion does fade. What is it that is left? Why stay with someone you are not passionately “in love” for “real love-love” with? Fear of being alone? Financial collapse if you strike out on your own?
Love is not fear. Love is not financial security.
Love is never a choice. You feel love in your heart and soul, or you don’t. You can’t fake it.
Love does not have an on/off switch.
You can choose to be with a good person or a bad person, but your heart decides for you if you love that person or not. However, real love is never abusive. No one who truly loves you would demean you or want to conquer you.
Love is not about being right. Or winning an argument.
Love is not a skin color or ethnicity. Love is not conditioned on gender or genitals. Love is not a demographic.
Love is not a piece of paper signed by a minister. Love is not a ring. Love is not “the dress.”
For all the media and marketing hype that surrounds sex and success in our culture, we are, ultimately, love-starved. We don’t actually know what love is.
Love is connection. Love is deep. Love is spiritual.
Love is limitless. Love is universal.
This is why it is so difficult to explain love, to understand what we do for love when we’re in love-love. To compare love to a summer’s day or a tree, or a mountain, or the sky, is the best we mortals can do to express the energy that exemplifies “the little death” of a billion stars exploding gloriously into complete expansiveness… all from within our heart.
Love is beautiful.
Love is energy.
The truth is
All there is.
Wrong. I have ONE cause — Human Rights. All other rights issues stem from this central trunk of the rights and issues’ family tree. Women’s rights, LGBT, genital integrity, workers’ rights, children’s rights, and more — ALL are branches of the primary concept that roots us in our basic right to self-determination, autonomy, and our humanity.
Today provided a perfect example of how different experiences color our activism. Usually, this is a good thing, but occasionally, our pain from our own experiences clouds our words, resulting in our message devolving into a war of emotion. It becomes a contest of “my pain is greater than your pain” — a competition no one wins.
My morning started with me checking my Facebook and Twitter while I made breakfast as I hurried my daughter to get up, get ready for school, and catch the bus.
I try not to spend all day on Twitter, but tomorrow’s Full Moon seems to have kicked up people’s crazy cycles a day early.
First, on Facebook, I responded to a friend’s comment about his neighbors’ loud sex last night. As the conversation progressed to sex positions (okay, I brought it up), I mentioned that the reason the original missionary position is the only position ever condoned by the Catholic church was because it provides the least pleasure for the woman. It puts the man in the superior, stronger, aggressive position while the woman is inferior, at the mercy of the man, and passive and submissive. Another chick chimed in saying some women “love to be ‘conquered.’” As a woman who has spent most of my life fighting NOT to be conquered by men, I disagreed, but I did not linger since I had to get some real work done.
I spent a couple hours working my day-job (Thursdays are a day-off for me), and what followed was an entire day on social media in one activist role or another. And I have preserved some of those exchanges in the photo gallery below. (To view them at full size, click the box on the lower right of your screen.)
The second round of today’s activism started out simple enough — me talking about orgasms, specifically, mine, and how I cry when I orgasm. I followed that with a comment that men crying during orgasm is perfectly natural. Twitter being a public forum, a random guy jumped in the convo with a rude comment ridiculing how it would look with a “he man blowing his load and crying.” This began a series of tweets back and forth as I tried to explain that a man crying during orgasm is perfectly natural. After all, men are human beings, and human beings have feelings.
Apparently, men are still not allowed to be full human beings in our society.
The third and most exasperating exchange occurred with a man who, it turns out, is also an activist — an intactivist, to be precise. An intactivist is someone who fights for ending all circumcision — on males and females — because genital mutilation is a human rights violation of a child’s bodily autonomy and is sexual assault on the child. This guy had tweeted the following comment:
“The sexual urges of women in our society are more important than the pain of a baby boy.”
After a morning of hearing that some women want to be conquered, men who cry are not masculine, and a few other ridiculous notions that are proof positive our society is still sexually repressed and almost entirely mentally unbalanced, I could not sit by and let this tweet go without standing up for women’s right to be sexual and not be shamed for it. Did I do it the right way? Could I have handled myself better? Should I have called him a moron so many times? Maybe. Maybe not.
The thought I had toward the end of this Twitter war (that lasted over a couple hours) is that this guy is reacting and projecting because of his own pain with his circumcision. Just as I possibly was too harsh in earlier altercations today.
Hearing a woman wants to be conquered made me think back to when I was molested as a kid, my rape when I was 21, and my Steubenville-esque experience. Talking about the horribly unsatisfactory missionary position brought to mind my own status as one of the 70% of women who has never orgasmed during sex — a statistic for which I still feel shame for myself and anger at my partners for not caring enough about me to ensure I had pleasure, too. It reignited my distaste for the porn industry that created a caricature of women as hyper-orgasmic nymphomaniac slut-bunnies — as opposed to erotica that presents sex and sexuality in a beautiful, honorable way.
I was reminded yet again of the hundreds of thousands — if not millions — of women who have been raped, tortured, killed outright, and burned at the stake by the Christian church who has feared women’s sexual power since Peter stole the church’s high seat from Mary Magdalene. As a pagan witch doing research for my stage writings, I spent years reading witch trial transcripts, scouring historical documents of witch hunters, Inquisitors, and missionaries in Europe and in colonial America who were obsessed with exorcising the natural sexuality of women. This does not include the women who were beaten, raped, and killed for wanting the right to vote, or the right to fight alongside men in the modern military. Too many thoughts and memories swarmed in my mind.
Hearing that a man can’t cry when he experiences pleasure infuriated me because so much of our patriarchal, imperial, testosterone-driven culture still carries the gender-role prejudices of religion and hierarchical misogyny and misandry that does a disservice to women and men.
Today’s activism was about shame. And pain. And how, even when we mean well, speaking up for one issue cannot happen at the expense of demeaning other people who are probably also in pain. After all, the oppressive culture that says mutilating a child’s genitals is okay is the same repressive culture that says a woman is to blame for her rape because of how she was dressed, or two people cannot love each other because they’re the same gender.
I’ve been a grassroots activist for 27 years, and I’ve seen in-fighting in every single rights group I’ve ever worked with — religious rights, American Indian rights, LGBT rights, women’s rights. Who’s a real witch? Who’s a real Indian? Bisexuals aren’t really discriminated against. Women don’t need full body autonomy or equal pay. Conservative Democrats aren’t real Democrats. And it’s all bullshit.
My motto has always been, “Human Rights are non-negotiable.”
I love that there are so many of us, each working in a niche that is important to us. Yet, that does not mean one corner of activism outweighs another. We can’t all work for all causes at all times. We have to split up into different groups to cover all the bases. Remember that equality does not mean we are the same, but rather, though we may be different, we are of the same value as human beings. Our human rights family tree is rooted in and celebrates our differences, with roots deep in the soil of our humanity, echoing the ancient axiom, “As above, so below.”
However, if you only care about one group who is hurt or exploited and not another, then you’re not working for rights issues, you’re a special interest asshat who is no better than the elitist oppressors who mock human rights activism while making fortunes off the masses’ suffering.
So I may not know the full extent of pain that another person has experienced, just as they won’t know the full extent of mine. But we can try to listen better. We can forgo the pain-game and stick to the work at hand. Don’t allow the oppressors’ need to stuff us into boxes and categories or divide us into opposing sides hinder our work of coming together and doing the work.
We are better than that. Do the work. Be the Change.
We Are All Connected.
- NEWS: Zero Tolerance to Female Genital Mutilation
- OpEd: ‘Male Circumcision Is No Biggie’
- Anatomy: #TeamUncut Intact Natural Penis Collage for #ForeskinFriday (21+ NSFW)
- OpEd: The Face of Orgasm: Is Your Woman Faking Orgasms or Not?
- DailyOJ 01-26-13, Part 2: The Fear of Intimacy
- OpEd: America’s Love/Hate Relationship with Breasts
© 2013 by Trish Causey. All Rights Reserved.
“First I was afraid, I was petrified”…. Gloria Gaynor sings in my ear as I think over the past few days since I wrote the first post of this blog, “A Life Lived in Fear Is a Life Half-Lived.”
I knew I’d lose some followers and “friends,” and I have, but I have gained more — both in number and in reassurance, acceptance, and a similar experience of relating that has happened often on my “secret blog” for the past year. When I post my very personal articles on my own journey, people tell me how grateful they are that someone has expressed what they themselves have gone through, felt, or been confused by. They tell me on Twitter or leave a comment on my blog. I am always grateful that someone took the time to share their feelings with me in their comments.
Sharing my journey of (still) overcoming sexual abuse, a miserable marriage, and speaking out on women’s sexual health rights and issues, I was scared of losing people I care about — especially theatre people — whom I have loved for years. I should have known better. :-) Theatre people are the AMAZINGEST people in the world. We understand and appreciate differences. We understand hardship and rejection better than most.
THANK YOU, my wonderful THEATRE FAMILY! :-) And to those of you who have followed my AW Blog and been so supportive, I THANK YOU as well! MWAH xoxo
© 2013 by Trish Causey. All Rights Reserved.
If you know me, you know I cover New York’s Broadway theatre for a living, doing write-ups for shows, reviewing shows and cast albums, and hosting my own radio show, Musical Theatre Talk, on which I chat with Tony Award winners, Bway designers, and composers — I’ve even covered the Tonys! I do all this from Mississippi…. Yes, Mississippi…. How?…. I’m damn good at what I do…. (And I occasionally fly to New York.)
But there are other things you may not know about me….
In 1994, I discovered a quirky independent Australian film entitled Strictly Ballroom. Almost 20 years later, Strictly Ballroom remains in my list of Top 10 Best Films of all time.
The basic tenet of the film is a quote, supposedly of Spanish Romani origin, that goes, “A life lived in fear is a life half-lived.” I have taken this quote and sentiment as the “theme” for 2013 as well as for my updated website, and my continued activism on my “secret” blog that I sort of kept from my “respectable friends” because it deals with subject matters too indelicate for polite company.
For the past year, since starting my “secret” blog, I have lived in fear of what others would think — that they would shun me, rumors would start, and I would be all alone in the big, scary world.
What the FUCK was I thinking?!
Of course, I’ll be shunned. Of course, people will talk. THIS has been the one constant in my life — being the black sheep of the family, having family and so-called friends disown me for being truthful to myself and living that truth in the open, standing up for what I believe in, speaking out for other people’s rights as well as my own. Why the hell would I be surprised for people to abandon me now?!
The fear began at age 9 when I was molested by a neighbor, a teenage girl down the street. She knew how to get me to keep silent — she threatened to tell my mother. My mother was an evil bitch, a Catholic zealot, dependent victim, and recreational martyr. I wasn’t sure what was being done to me, but somehow, my mother was bound to twist it to being my fault. That threat — that fear of being shunned by those who were supposed to love me — had lived with me for years, well into adulthood.
At 21, I was raped. (No, Republicans, it was not your definition of “legitimate rape.” It was just date-rape, just me being violated in my home by someone I knew well, which I know doesn’t really count to you as “rape-rape” even though 80% of reported rapes are committed by someone the victim knows, not the stereotypical boogey-man.) Again, I lived in fear of others finding out, of being shunned and ridiculed by those who were supposed to love me, so I didn’t tell anyone — not one person, not even the police.
Since I was 13, I’ve spoken out on many things in regards to human rights and civil rights — sometimes in regard to how it applied to me as a woman, a bisexual, a heathen pagan. Mostly, however, I’ve fought for human rights on the macrocosmic scale — I’ve fought for the principal of the basic right of <__insert human rights issue here__>.
This time last year, something happened within me, and I could no longer keep all of this inside. I created my “secret” website and blog that I absolutely love writing. Yet, I lived in fear that if my family found out, I would lose the last of my family who still talk to me… and worse yet, my activism for women’s rights, women’s body autonomy, women’s sexual health, and my own personal journey in healing from sexual abuse would be used against me by my soon-to-be ex-husband to take my child away from me…. I repeat… I’m in Mississippi… not New York….
A few days ago, while looking ahead to running for public office and knowing my “secret” blog would become public knowledge, I began to update my personal website. For some reason, the quote from Strictly Ballroom resounded in my head: “A life lived in fear is a life half-lived.”
As happy as I am in my life as a single mom, a writer, an activist, a dreamer, I still lived in fear — which meant my life was not really my own. My fear still controlled me.
I knew then that I will no longer live in fear of losing people from my life. People who shun me for being an open, honest, and unapologetic loudmouth activist are missing out on one hell of a person in their lives. Their shunning says more about them than me. In fact, today on Twitter, I saw this quote in someone’s bio: “If you judge me, you don’t define me. You define yourself.”
So, here goes…. I’m coming out of the blogger and activist closet to let everyone know about my site and blog, ArousedWoman.com. (Begin shunning now….)
“Arouse” means “to stir to action, to awaken.” To me, this perfectly summed up my activism and the awakening I was experiencing on so many levels. A year of secret blogging later, I am proud to say I have a small following of readers — okay, they’re a fabulous fan-base whom I love dearly.
Here’s some more shun-worthy information:
I have never orgasmed during sex… but then 70% of women have never orgasmed during penetrative sex. I thought the problem was me. Turns out, not all of it was my fault. Some of it was the guys’ fault (okay, a lot of it has been the fault of the men in my life). A lot of it was the fault of the sexual abuse I suffered as a child and as an adult, and much to my surprise, a great deal of my issues with sex have come from the sexual harassment I’ve suffered since I suddenly developed breasts one night when I was 10. Therefore, I have written about my abuse as a kid as well as my date rape experience. I’ve written about my lifelong hatred of my breasts, as well as my fear of intimacy. I even wrote about my own Steubenville-esque experience that I was still carrying shame over.
I’m glad to say I am a multi-orgasmic woman — enjoying spontaneous O’s even! I have documented this journey in my DailyOJ posts. I am happier than I’ve ever been in that department… so much so that I now help others — men and women — with their sexual journey and sexual healing by answering their questions in my AskTrish posts and on Twitter. I love reading the comments by my readers on my blog and Twitter — they seem to like my OpEd pieces especially:
- OpEd: How I Like My Sex… Bare…
- OpEd: The Face of Orgasm: Is Your Woman Faking Orgasms or Not? (’cause really, most men are kinda clueless)
- OpEd: Fucking Cherokee Men (and Other People of Color)
I also review products including sex toys, books, lube, and music.
Still reading all this?…
AND I post erotic pictures on my AW Tumblr…. (no, not of me…. yet….)
AND I’m planning on hosting sexual wellness workshops….
AND I’m preparing an orgasm training workshop….
AND I’ve published a sample chapter of erotica on Amazon.com Kindle, that’s FREE for Prime members. (Tempted? Go ahead, you know you want to check it out…. I’ll wait right here for you to return…)
Oh…. you’re back? Great… Where was I…….
And is now a good time to mention I had to have a medical abortion in 1997?…. No?…. Oh…. Well, then, I guess I’ll save my tale of spending 20 minutes on the kitchen floor in such horrendously painful, incapacitating contortions I could not crawl across the floor to reach the phone to call 9-1-1… (twice)… for another time.
Still reading? Wow.
And I hate religion…. I am a very spiritual person, but religion is little more than man-made rules set by a core group of wealthy, powerful elitist men who suppress the masses into subjugation and adoration through machinations of fear and guilt — and who usually HATE WOMEN…. I don’t dislike the followers of religion necessarily — I like the UU’s, and I’ve never met a Methodist I didn’t like.
AND I am the Queen of Musical Theatre…. Seriously.
Now you know. My secrets are out. I no longer have any fear. My life is a life fully lived and living!
Judge me. You will be defining yourself, not me.
LOVE THIS? NOT SO MUCH? Leave a comment below! And feel free to share on social networks.
I recently announced new categories for posts on the topics of Health, Fitness, and Nutrition, and I’ve decided to take my ramblings a step further… and delve into other topics that are both mainstream and esoteric.
Hardly a day goes by that I don’t get an email, a tweet, or Tumblr Ask from a reader who wants to know my opinion on some topic regarding sexuality, health, fitness, women’s issues, or alternative subject: “Hey, Trish, what do you think about…” … porn… lingerie… anal sex… “Trish, do you have any thoughts about…” … marijuana… astral travel… the Saints winning another Super Bowl…
Well, of course, I do! (And no, the Saints will never win another Super Bowl. We never thought they’d win a first one!)
I have tucked my opinions about many topics within my posts here on my AW Blog, and my OpEd posts have addressed certain topics du jour. But I want to respond to these general topic requests that I feel are different from my AskTrish posts, which deal with a person’s specific situation. So my new “What I Really Think About…” posts will be filed under the new category WIRTA.
Also, I will be starting new series of posts on Dreams because dreams can be very important, as well as Recipes to help fuel your nutrition and aphrodisiac needs, plus other out-there, bohemian, pagan, witchy, crazy, alternative, quantum, woo-woo topics that tickle my fancy and make me ponder the meaning of life in the multiverse as a ball of energy hanging out in a physical meat-suit — this existence being a cozy boho-fabulous place I like to call Trishtopia. :-)
So look for my new series beginning in March!
These will be separate categories but they certainly intertwine in their importance. Overall health is required for vibrant sexual response — even if you’re not with a partner. You cannot be truly healthy if you exercise a lot but then eat junk food on a regular basis. Likewise, eating a healthy diet but not allowing your body to utilize its full range of motion can adversely affect the muscles, tendons, ligaments, even your bone density and skeletal frame.
There is energy transference from the food you eat; and if you ingest unhealthy, “dead” energy, you are unhealthy, “dead” energy. The body can mask the mounting long-term effects of eating the Standard American Diet (SAD) until it seems too late. However, no matter how old you are or how long you’ve been out of shape, it’s never too late to revamp your approach to your health. After all, erections and orgasms require happy muscles and healthy blood vessels!
Your approach to balancing your overall health should include stress-reducing practices such as moderate exercise and meditation(!!!). No New Age woo-woo stuff here, people. Science is finally catching up to what yogis have known for millennia. Meditation is very good for you! Not only is meditation great for your mind, but it is also beneficial for your body by increasing oxygen intake, lowering blood pressure, and controlling stress hormones.
On the short list for topics, I will be discussing diet choices for aphrodisiac nutrition, primal/paleo vs. vegetarian/vegan, vitamins and minerals supplements, as well as fitness tips for functional strength/resistance training, flexibility, and range of motion, and other lifestyle choices that will keep your body in optimal orgasmic health. This summer, I hope to begin a video series on all this as well.
You only have one meat-suit, people. Take care of it while you’re using it this lifetime. :-)
Hard to believe, but yes, ArousedWoman is now 1 year old. *WOO-HOO!!!*
Last year, I had started my activist site and blog, Activists’ Voice — I even started a radio show to go with that blog. However, with the crazy, misogynist landscape of the 2012 POTUS election, I needed to focus the scope of my activism toward women’s rights and women’s sexual autonomy issues. From that, ArousedWoman was born on Valentine’s Day, 2012.
This has been an incredible year. I’ve met some incredible people through my activism with AW, and I’ve come across some real jerks. Numerous people have told me how my blog has helped their own sexual journey, awakened their awareness to certain issues, as well as let them know they are not alone in their healing from abuse.
My DailyOJ has been called “brave” for its tell-all insights into a woman’s psyche and a woman’s experiences with sex, female anatomy, and multiple orgasms, but I’ve also had so-called liberals dismiss my journey as a “jerk-off blog.” (Whatever.) I let my opinion loose in my OpEd articles, and I’m so honored that readers trust me enough to ask my opinion on their own situations that I answer in my AskTrish series.
While I think society-at-large is a collective 4-year-old having a temper tantrum when it comes to sexual issues, I still think there is hope! And I’m looking forward to the year ahead as ArousedWoman’s path becomes clearer for me and how I want to help others. With the new forum and the radio show I hope to start (soon!), I think ArousedWoman’s upcoming year will be fantastic — thanks in large part to all of you!
Stay tuned as I have new AskTrish posts (with questions from women!), some interesting orgasm experiences to note in my DailyOJ, and a few new reviews of books and music as well as my review of my new sex toy (move over, Sparkles!! j/k :-) ).
A male member of the AW Forum posted a discussion in the Music to Set the Mood area, saying:
“Just thought I would add a category that I like to call ‘Hard Erotica.’ It’s a little more gritty and animalistic… Sometimes a good fuck requires a little hair pulling….”
Seriously? We’re back to the “so easy a cave man could do it” attitude toward sex?
The songs to which this member linked were dance-music, “hardcore erotica” tracks from Basic Instinct and Madonna. As a composer of real music, I find that this sort of computerized drivel personifies what is wrong with popular music (overproduced, over-sampled, monotonous in “beat”), but I’ll leave that aside for now.
Describing an enthusiastic fuck as “animalistic” begins to lead the conversation about sex back toward hardcore porn — removing the humanity from sex and encouraging the monotonous mechanics of impersonal fucking — which is not something I subscribe to and is NOT the purpose of my forum or anything related to ArousedWoman(TM). Sex should be about connection — even casual fucking should have a dose of humanity and connectedness to it.
We all know sex can get really heated and… exuberant… that doesn’t mean the intent is “animalistic,” necessarily. This sort of description is exactly the terminology the church used to shame sex — that it was “base” and only for “lower” animals. Deep, fast, thrusting sex can be thrilling for sure, but that doesn’t mean it is “animalistic.” Sex can also be incredibly tender and beautiful. Sex should be a raising of energy between partners, not just a means of tension relief from erratic muscular contractions. In fact, from a Tantric perspective, the best orgasms happen from “slow sex.” (Yes, I said slow sex — as in, the man enters the vagina, and nobody moves for an hour… Yes, I said an hour.)
For myself, I make it clear to a partner that hair pulling is absolutely NOT OKAY. It’s not only a sign of aggravated assault (to me), but yanking a woman’s head back via hair pulling is dangerous to the cervical spine and the larynx (the tube for breathing and speech).
Men may have a fantasy about hair pulling because of what they’ve seen in “hardcore porn,” but only because they’ve never been on the receiving end of having their head yanked back by their long hair or ponytail. No, it is not the same feeling as when a woman curls her fingers in a man’s short hair (on his head) and pulls his head back (that is bad enough), but to have someone grab hold of your long hair, use it like a handle to jerk your head back is horribly painful — and again, dangerous to the neck and larynx.
Yes, I know, some readers will complain (again) that I’m being all “puritanical” and I’m “not at peace” with myself for expressing my opinion (and I’m not even on my period and all hormonal), but I don’t exist to perpetuate the stereotypes of women or sex. So suck it.
ArousedWoman(TM) is about awakening from the “dirty,” impersonal, shame-filled KoolAid of sexuality as demonized by religion and kinkified by a society still trying to find balance in sexual practices and “roles.” As I say on Twitter: “The human body is beautiful. Sex is beautiful.” Nothing about ArousedWoman(TM) is about hardcore porn, so find another site if that’s all you care about — there are plenty of porn & sex sites that perpetuate the pro-church, misogynistic attitudes toward sexuality. ArousedWoman(TM) is NOT one of those.
One last word on monotonous dance music… If a man can only move his hips in one rhythm, he’s a dud in bed. Give me a man who can fuck the 1812 Overture, and we’ll talk.
For some reason the topic of “talking dirty” has come up several times recently. Apparently, men are under the assumption that women want to talk dirty, that we like to talk dirty, that we live for talking dirty in bed.
What the hell?!
Actually, most women do NOT like the “talk dirty” part of sex that men addicted to porn seem to like, or men who still view women under the Maiden/Whore dichotomy — “bad” girls do what “good” girls won’t stereotype.
“Oooo, baby, yeah, fuck me. Fuck my pussy with your big fat cock, ram it in me hard…”
What does “talking dirty” do for the man? What purpose is it supposed to serve?
I, personally, would NEVER “talk dirty.” “Talking dirty” is a dumbing-down affectation of porn and perpetuates the compartmentalizing of a woman into labels and categories, separating her into disparate personalities — i.e., the good-hearted, nurturing woman who is a mother couldn’t possibly be associated with the multi-orgasmic cougar in bed. What better way to segregate the various aspects of woman than to ask her to say or do something so contrary from her everyday personality or communicative style?
Besides that, “talking dirty” is an insult to my intelligence and my extensive vocabulary as a professional writer and performer of language.
Yes, I call a penis a penis or lingam, and my vulva is my vulva or yoni. I may call a penis a dick, but that is rare; and I say testicles and balls interchangeably. Other than that, my vagina is my vagina, and my clit is my clit. The anus, ass, and perineum are synonymous for both sexes. And my breasts are breasts — NOT ANY OTHER HORRIBLE, DEGRADING TERM that MEN (and implant Barbies) USE FOR BREASTS. BREASTS!!! That’s what they’re called, and that’s what I call them. Calling various parts of my anatomy by other names — particularly “dirty” slang terms — disassociates me from my body, or places my body into parts ( J. Alfred Prufrock style) as mere “things” for someone else’s use and enjoyment, not mine.
On a side note, I will call ejaculate “cum” but having an orgasm is not “cumming” — since ejaculating and having (lots of) orgasms are two completely different functions. And yes, my vaginal fluids ARE the “nectar of the gods,” thank you very much!
As I wrote in my article “Me, My Breasts, and I,” I hated my breasts most of my life because of how men treated them and treated me because of them. My body image was molded through the perspective of others who did not value me as a person or my body as the physical extension of my self. It took a Tantric breast meditation to integrate my breasts to my body and my sense of self, to love my body. But now, to be considered “hot,” I have to “talk dirty”? Fuck that!
Why would I talk “dirty” when there’s nothing dirty about sex or being sexual? As I say on Twitter ALL THE TIME: “The human body is beautiful. Sex is beautiful.”
I’m beginning to think that the concept of “talking dirty” is for the sole purpose of distancing the partners from an emotional connection — to keep the sex as just physical as opposed to an opportunity to experience beautiful, mind-blowing orgasms. Even fuck-buddies can have a great connection beyond the physical orgasm — without the “complications” of the dreaded “relationship.” Even Tantra partners who are not “in love” would never “talk dirty” — that would be so disrespectful, particularly to the woman. The man is beautiful. The woman is beautiful. The experience is beautiful. No ramming or dirty talk required.
If you’re a woman and you actually like to talk dirty, I would love to hear from you — to hear why you like to talk dirty — and don’t say because your male partner likes it — ’cause then you’re doing it for him, not because the want and desire to “talk dirty” emanates naturally from within you.
I can’t “talk dirty” about the body or being sexual because I find them both to be wonderfully beautiful. And I felt that way long before I began studying Tantra.
So bite me.
Don’t get me wrong — I love ALL penises: circumcized penises, small penises, large penises, all of them. But some uncut men in the United States still have to deal with discrimination from partners who are unaccustomed to seeing, handling, or loving a natural, intact penis.
I recently saw a tortured comment from one uncut guy on Tumblr. He was so distraught by a girlfriend calling his natural penis “nasty,” he was seriously contemplating getting circumcized at his current age of 23 or 24. I was horrified — not only at the thought of an adult male choosing circumcision just to be considered “normal” in a culture that has no clue about what normal sexuality should be (i.e., not evil, not sinful, not shameful, not jackhammering a vagina), but this girlfriend then told all her friends about his “nasty” penis and he became the laughing stock of his friends and acquaintances — at a college, no less.
** Stepping up on soapbox: America’s Puritanical overlords and evangelical bullshit have so warped our culture, few people have a clue as to what is natural and beautiful… in penises, breasts, or vulva! And yes, I am one of those radical tree-huggers who views routine infant male circumcision and any female circumcision as aggravated sexual assault with a deadly weapon, with the perpetrators being culpable and deserving jail time. (Stepping down…) **
I have already had a few submissions, and while some are great, some are a bit lackluster — not for size or shape, but for the absolute disregard for ambiance!!! Jeez! Dudes! You’re taking pics of your penis for a woman!!! Why is the toilet in the background?!
So I’m laying out some Submission Guidelines.
- Photo must be of you and submitted by you, and YOU must be 21 years of age or older, regardless of where you live in the world.
- Photo must be a close-up of your penis and testicles, or of your body somewhere from your navel to above your knees, i.e., your face should not be in the pic.
- Multiple photos are permissible to show the way the foreskin moves/changes in different states: unaroused/natural, partially aroused, fully erect, etc. No cum shots will be posted (but you can send them anyway :-) ).
- Photos should be taken in natural light with NO FLASH — using flash does NOT make your penis look inviting. (Sorry, but that’s the truth.) So take the pic near a window, outside in the woods or other place where you won’t be arrested for indecent exposure, etc.
- Higher resolution is better.
- Photo may be edited by me for size, color tone, etc.
- I HATE BLUE!!! So please don’t have anything blue in the picture.
- All men — straight, gay, bi — are more than welcome!
If in doubt as to tone and ambiance, PLEASE look at my Tumblr page. I adore sensuality. Crude porn shots is NOT what I’m looking for. I want to honor the male and the uncut penis.
Sumbit via email on the main ArousedWoman.com website.
P.S. Cut guys — feel free to send pics, too, and I’ll put them in a separate collage.
* Follow trish on Twitter. *
* Visit the main ArousedWoman website. *
To support AW Radio & Forum, visit Trish’s GoFundMe page.
This is a quick note to let everyone know that I am taking the bull by the horns and starting up the Radio show and Forum that I’ve been wanting to create for a while now.
So many people ask me if I do podcasts, and I have to tell them, yes, but not yet for AW. Well, that’s changing!
While we dream of Utopia, running a radio show and hosting a forum is not free. It costs money for the licensed platforms even when the daily toil of maintaining each is based on sweat equity.
AW Radio will cover all aspects of the AW raison d’etre including Women’s Sexuality, Women’s Rights, LGBT, Survivors of Abuse, Religious Freedom, Indigenous Rights, Environmental Issues, Healthcare, Anti-Circumcision/Body Autonomy issues, and more.
The AW Forum will provide a safe place for like-minded individuals and orgs to talk about issues, recovery, and more importantly, foster solutions to put into practice. The Forum will be membership-based (to keep out the crazies) at $14.95/year, with a portion of the proceeds being donated annually to 2 organizations as voted on by the Forum community.
For more info on the Radio show as well as the Forum, visit my GoFundMe page I’ve started. Donations are securely processed by either WePay or PayPal (your choice!).
Be sure to check out the REWARD that accompanies each donation level, and make a TAX-DEDUCTIBLE donation if you can.