There are many ways that computers mimic us. Our brains are the OG original central processing unit. We run programs, both hardware in the form of our DNA, and software in the form of our beliefs. And it’s our beliefs that shape our “default settings.”
This journey is not one that can be taught. This journey is one you must discover on your own.
Our blood is a deep and profound part of our medicine as women. We are the keepers of the gates that bridge the worlds. Through our wombs life is born and through our care, life gives way to death. In this way we are incomprehensibly connected to the mysteries of our world…
Perhaps the most common objection to practicing consent is rooted in the perception that asking someone to kiss or touch them will “kill the mood” or is somehow not romantic, as if being clear about what’s happening between two people makes it less sexy.
If consent is not explicit, then it goes into the unspoken realm of implied assumption.
In a recent intimate encounter, the man I was making out with firmly placed my hand on his cock soon after we began to kiss. I moved my hand away. He moved my hand back to his cock. I moved my hand to his chest. He again moved my hand back to his cock, each time with a little more force of motion.
After the third time, I gave in.
This is not consensual. This is a form of sexual coercion where someone uses manipulation, pressure or force to get what they want.
A couple years ago, the issue of sexual assault came up across several communities in Portland, naming at least four different men as violators. It was like a sexual assault bomb went off in the city and many conversations followed, groups formed, and people grappled with what to do.
It was heavy, intense, and uncomfortable. I participated in several conversations, and facilitated a few. In each conversation, what I came to call “the rise to the defense of men” would inevitably take over. Early on, someone, usually a man, would interject something to the effect of “but all men aren’t bad.”
Pussy. There, I said it. P-u-s-s-y.
It happens to be a word I love. Pussy. The way it rolls off the tongue from puckered lips and ends with a smile.
I happen to love my pussy. She brings me my greatest pleasures in life. Some of my favorite memories are painted within her folds.
She is the keeper of many mysteries. My pussy is the pathway to heaven and the gateway to life incarnate. She is powerful beyond even my comprehension, yet tender, soft and sweet.
Fire is one of my favorite elements and still, I have been among many who have been saddened and concerned by the raging fires in the Western United States. Yet fire teaches us so much, both anecdotally and literally. Indeed, new research and science has come out to support the fact that wildland fires are actually beneficial for the land and ecology (read on to the end to be in the know). What all this doesn’t help with is the heartbreak that so many are experiencing from losing their homes, livelihoods, and in some instances, their loved ones.