SEX

Breakups Aren't Necessary (An Essay)

Breakups don’t break what needs breaking.

(Peep this Mandy Bite)

Being the living truth breaks what needs breaking.

Moves what needs moving.

Recalibrates every piece.

(Peep this Mandy Bite)

People break up in the physical because they don’t yet know how to cut cords in the non-physical.

They’re trying to do ‘out there’ what they’ve yet to accomplish ‘in here’.

Thinking that rearranging ‘those’ things will inevitably take care of ‘these’ things.

It won’t.

Those things will remain messy things until you’ve cleaned up all these things.

Which doesn’t mean ‘stay together’ (even that’s not ultimately real).

It means there’s no need to contrive an end.

The separation / split you seek happens of its own accord through energetic truth (integrity); not through an intellectual decision or an emotional reaction.

There is absolutely no way you can be in complete integrity (which almost no one is) AND be in a dynamic that requires severing something in the physical.

From that erect place you can and will still apply any true move, which may of course include a physical separation.

But the work and the break is done in the unseen.

The rest follows suit quite naturally.

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Relationships Don't Need Work (An Essay)

Relationships don’t need to be ‘worked on’.

Nor do they require any level of sacrifice.

It’s not necessary.

Or energetically sound.

The vibe of trying,

reaching,

abandoning

(even just a little)

for or because of another…

kills the potency (and purity) that makes every dynamic thrive.

‘Working on’ the relationship by focusing on and considering the other inevitably creates an energetically limp (attached / codependent / diluted) experience for both parties, despite how intense this dysfunctional bond might feel.

It’s a poor facsimile of the pure fire you actually crave that only comes from never leaving home.

From working on THIS; not that.

Because THIS is all there is and that will adjust accordingly.

(Peep this Mandy Bite)

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The Intimate Gallery of Us (An Essay)

as he and i deepen exponentially

it inevitably eclipses that which doesn’t hit as deep

there’s been this narrowing

a honing in

a natural devotion to THIS

and last night

a stunning and mind blowing masterpiece

was added to the intimate gallery of us

and all i knew was stay here

because here with him

is truth

and when i left his place to go dancing

to be the Mandy i’ve always been

i left this man

for the very first time

as his

and he

as mine

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Love Is When Nothing Remains (An Essay)

My experience of love is contingent upon what’s stripped away;

not on what’s added up.

The amount of time.

The layers of meaning.

The stories that are amassed.

Nah.

Seeing through lies.

The stories that die.

The dissolution of matter and meaning.

Accumulation doesn’t impress or interest me.

I prefer things light; not heavy.

(Peep this Mandy Bite)

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A Dance Of Two Who Are Moving As One (An Essay)

I wanted to start this post with, “I had the best SEX ever last night.”

Because that’s how I describe whatever truly hits my spot.

The best (fill in the blank) ever.

Because in the moment, that’s how it feels.

Floating in heaven.

Nothing can top THIS.

But more accurately, it’s just another delicious experience of presence and truth which always feels like heaven.

Yummy.

Delicious.

Swoon.

And as we played, it was so quiet.

So still.

Even amongst the sounds and movements.

It was the most natural dance with another.

With myself.

Through the other who is me.

A dance so fluid I didn’t notice the moves.

I only felt the dance.

(read this poem)

I can’t even say that the SEX keeps getting better, deeper, richer…

because that would imply it was less so the first night and that wasn’t the case at all.

We moved beautifully and seamlessly and magically then as well.

Because presence in the NOW is as deep as it gets.

Playing for the first time EVERY time.

Why show up for less?

We’ve never replicated previous scenes.

Nor have we tried to create one.

Art is made in the moment.

Last night, another masterpiece.

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