tHe moon and her muses

TOUCH YOURSELF 

Sometimes I wonder about the women who won’t hold their own breasts. Who’ve been taught that their bodies are dirty and shameful and guilty and so they never dance naked in front of the mirror. I think of the skin that is so very craving its own touch. To fold inward and be explored by the fire that gifts it movement. 

I wonder how much we would heal as a community if we still collected ornate handled mirrors. Something gilded and blooming. The kind that can nestle sweetly between our thighs. I wonder if you took the time to see the goddess dripping from the fleshy doorway to unknowable power that we’ve been tricked into never touching. I wonder how much we would heal if we touched ourselves more. 

If you lit a candle that smelt of charcoal and surrender. And turned out the lights. And watched as the flush of bloody heat begins fighting for air at the surface of your body. The blush and moan of your own fingertips on your own body. The fire dancing and swaying with your breath. All warm and skin and shadow. If you did this until your skin felt like your skin. Not their skin. Not something divided and created in another human's body. Not a toy to be offered in exchange for peace. Not something but someone. But you. But yours. 

Yours. 

Dip your fingers into lavender oil, rose petals and steam. Touch every inch. Whisper I love you. Remind your muscles that they can relax now. Feel your chest rise with oxygen and freedom. Make your way to the inside of your thighs.

That place we hide away 

And open yourself up like you wish a lover would

In awe of everything

The softness

The texture

The milk and honey 

Take a moment to notice how much you truly love wanting. That you have a heart to make race. That your skin has the will to sense anything at all. That you can smell yourself and the lavender and the charcoal air. That you even have eyes to appreciate how the candle makes your body sway and curve. 

Slip your fingers inside yourself 

And take your time 

Feeling what it feels like to be touched

Or don’t 

But I think you should. I think you should hold yourself more. Rub your feet and your hands and your legs. I think you should burn candles and stare at the moon and wear clothes that remind you of your divinity. That you are a deity. All flesh and stardust draped around bone. 

Exhale. 

And then draw in the atmosphere like your rib cage needs help growing. Fill yourself to the brim. And then fuller. Breathe like you can remember it's a gift to breathe. 

Drink it in, until you are about to burst 

And feel it try to escape into every cell of your being

Into your bones 

And your hair 

And the space in your mind where flesh turns to though 

Exhale. 

The foundations of our power lies in how the mind and the body meet to write the story of living in your skin. 

For so many the mind and body is divorced with no court agreement. Something that is either completely neglected or fought over like our very lives depend on it - to be fair it does. 

And our mind can’t make sense of the skin and the skin crawls with the worry of the mind and the canvas that is living is left to be painted by unceremonious tears and blood and sweat. 

Unceremonious because when you are all of you- breathing into your bones and your fingertips searching and reaching for the cosmos - you like painting with blood and sweat and tears. 

And yet I worry you have forgotten how they tried to stop the magic with Iron. The thing that pulses through our veins. Or silver. Or greed. How they convinced us our very blood was dirty.

Until our monthly sacrifice turned into our monthly shunning. Till our blood ran thick. And our intuition muddied. 

This book isn’t about who we are to blame. It’s not about the deliciousness of revenge or the pendulum swings. It’s about your flesh sitting on planet Earth reading this page. It’s about your eyes' ability to focus until it can see what isn’t even in front of them. It’s imagination, sensation, creation and liberation. 

It’s about change today - not in a system of systems in need of change.
It’s about your sex. Your mouth. Your eyes. Your gut. Your skin. Your blood. Your reasons for pumping and pulsing and moving from here to there. 

It’s about the cages we choose and the cages we can’t see. 

It’s about YOU 

And possibly a little bit about me.