Monthly Archives: December 2014



There is a certain nourishment, which accompanies human touch. Without such nurturing, one can suffer emotionally.  Not all touch has substance. There is touch which stems from sexual desire.  In itself, sexual desire is a mere blink of emotion.  Love based touch is resilient. Love in itself, can take weight your shoulders.  Love and sex combined, are powerfully… sublime.  Concern of societies norms, thrown to the wind, and all sensual desires embraced… THAT defies definition… and often society!  For me to have experienced that freedom, was in itself a gift.


Relationships evolve, affected by our challenges; both physical and emotional.  Our egos, may indeed fall under attack.  Aging issues can chip away at ego, particularly masculinity. That’s quite a test of friendship and commitment when those challenges present. It’s also a show of intelligence when those affected, can rewrite how they approach their partner.  


I believe that while everyone has that intelligence, few are able to get past the denial involved to create a fresh canvas in a challenging chapter.  A lifetime of intimacy renders us habitual, and behavior is difficult to relearn.  It’s human nature in thinking; What comes easily at one point, should later as well. To relearn how to touch, when emotions are compromised, involves strength and investment.  It’s that evolution in a relationship, involving an investment, that few can comprehend.  This is especially true, if the smoke of challenge is clouding that vision.  



For continued growth in a long-term relationship, you must invest energy. It takes a very powerful energy within, to grow in the face of challenge.  I noted in a prior post:

It is believed our chakra energy is formed in childhood.  No matter if you believe in chakras or energy, we must acknowledge the lasting touch childhood has upon us.


It’s unfortunate when the *two* do not possess that energy.  It is usually the one who is NOT challenged, which carries that emotional weight and understanding.


This has been the toughest realization of my lifetime.  I’ve loved and lost many dear ones, due to death.  Never before, have I felt loss of one who is among the living and within my reach.


My great grandfathers words ring deep, with this lesson.  Thank you, Papa.  Those words and that story, stand on their own and are due their own entry.

Shooting Star


A bit of chill in the wind,

warmed by a response,

to a shooting star.

Looking up, at the same time.

I am reminded, it was

not a dream.

Distance vanishes.

Brought by the magic of a star,

ah a meteorite. 

The warmth of hearing you once more,

more comfort than imagined.



This move still has an ethereal feel to it.

I cannot shake that dreamy; *Am I really here?* feel to this chapter.

It’s almost as if I dreamed up this town, the lake, the people and their smiles.

Stress upon stress fall behind me, most unable to follow me to Mexico.

The packing that preceded this move, turned into a frenzy in the final weeks.

And then, when that frenzied, determined smoke cleared…  

This is now my home.  A home which feels like home, much more than past moves.


I venture out, down the terrain of cobblestoned streets.  My hiking shoes protect my ankles, as I hoist groceries back up up up that hill.  Transportation is a couple of months

in the distance.  Uh oh… these groceries… I need a burrow at least!  

Where did I see that sign… Massage?    Was it down this street, surely it was?  But no, and so I travel into the village.  Poking my head into doors to find it is oh so so much for a massage.  so very businessy in it’s energy…  uh uh. Feet back on the cobblestones… back up that hill.    Oh once more down this street, that street…



Tantric, Stone, Deep tissue, Chakra and more…

The energy reaches, searches and meets with mine.

This fits like I imagined massage…  Thus my reward, for circling around and around, peaking through corridors and courtyards.


Sublime… so very… and then I hear an addition to the music.  Chanting a touch so low I can barely hear it, thinking it is merely a part of the music?

But, ah the direction is near me.  Little song, and a drop more of chanting, as she works that uncooperative neck and shoulder.   


Quieted, she places what feels like a coin… forehead and points… amid a tapestry of touches, scents, mist whooshing over me… she leans in and whispers, my sensing a question in her tone.. (Gosh my hearing is awful)… She repeats.  “You are different”

I laugh and think to myself… So what else is new?  


Massage over, this talented woman wrestles with English to explain what she meant.  The short of it is, all my chakras are open.

Which seems to surprise her, for most aches and muscle imbalances are in part due to some sort of energy imbalance, of which she explains is not the case with me.  So few words, but so hard to explain to me, for there is a language barrier.  She wants to know why this is, but cannot verbalize it.  I smile and explain how the love lives on… my mother.


It’s interesting, for I know so little of chakras, but instinctively I knew.  I knew that anything which fortified something deep, had to come from my mother/childhood.  Interesting for when I do a touch of research online, I find that childhood is when our chakras are formed.


So my chakras are open… hmmm… this escapee may be powerful in ways that indeed are rather ethereal.







(This painting depicts Picasso’s famous mistress and muse Marie-Therese Walter. A nude Marie-Therese sprawls across the bottom half of the painting, while her bust (a sculpture that Picasso had created in 1931) adorns a pedestal. The leaves are of a philodendron or love tree, a fast-growing plant that Picasso had in his own home. A closer look reveals Picasso’s lips emerging from behind a veil. )



As a verb, to muse is to consider something thoughtfully.

As a noun, it means a person — especially a woman — who is a source of artistic inspiration.


I’d also like to share the following descriptive…

“Many artists, writers, poets and musicians have said that their creative work has been inspired by an individual whom they refer to as their muse. A muse is someone who has such an influence on another that he or she becomes the focus and inspiration for that person’s creative work. The term has historically been used by men to describe the women that they have been in love with and made the subject of their work.

The word muse originates from Greek mythology. The Greek gods Zeus and Mnemosyne had nine daughters called the Muses. The nine daughters were of one being in heart, spirit and thought. If the muses loved a man, then the man’s worries instantly disappeared. The man who was loved by the muses was considered to be more sacred than a holy man.

Throughout the history of the arts, men and women have been inspired by their own muses. Think of John Lennon and Yoko Ono, two people who were inspired by each other and became the subject of much of the other’s work. One world famous artist who incorporated his muses into his work was the painter Pablo Picasso. Throughout his life, each of the women he met and loved became his subject.”

I came across the term muse in many a descriptive, of Picasso’s art.  He often would refer to his subject/mistress(es), as his muse.  I suppose that had impressed me to the point that muse became scented with sexual and intimate implications.

Pablo-Picasso-7Picasso’s mistress Marie-Therese Walter forms the subject of this expensive Picasso painting. The artist captures his muse asleep on a chair  a scene that is repeated in another painting from the same series, La Lecture. Picasso was 50 at the time; Marie-Therese was 24. It is believed that Picasso painted the piece within a single afternoon on 24 January 1932. The painting is famous for its erotic content.  This link offers a bit of history of a few Picasso’s which I found interesting.

I am an artist in written word, erotica, photography and art.  I have always wanted to go deeper into my art.  However, I put my supplies away, decades ago.

Now I am presented with yet another chance!  As I packed for Mexico, I unearthed those treasured art supplies.  I added  more supplies, infused with both new and worn.  The new was easy to behold.  These were new water color pencils.  They would bridge the gap between charcoal and color.  My hands always craved detail and the ease of a pencil.  It will be a difficult habit to break. My mind would crave color, but never having ventured beyond charcoal and pencil.

The worn were of my mothers legacy.  Pastels, lovingly worn, chiseled and chipped by that of my mother’s hand.  When I held them, I felt her.

Those pastels were to be used for a final project.  I was to pose as her model, for a nude. That project never birthed, but in her mind and mine.  I in a sense, was her muse.

Lesson learned.  Never wait, when inspiration embraces.

I will examine this further, and where her hand rested, we both shall create this and other visions.

Where shall this muse, the fuel for such inspiration, be found.

I have first hand, experienced the writing frenzy that is accompanied by a deep friendship or lover.

It is exquisite in colors, so overwhelming that the words and emotion outnumbered the ability to place all on paper.

I see the fire in Picasso’s work, and think of my artists supplies. In thinking back to past inspirations; I am beginning to understand.  For some (myself), inspiration must precede art.   The best inspiration comes from outside ourselves, in that of a mutual inspiration.