Pleasure. Rapture. Mother Love.
Earth. Gaia. Terra. Earth Mother. Great Mother.
Mother Goddess. Magna Mater. Mama.
She demonstrates to us through her actions. Her language communicates to us through our senses. There is no lip service here.
She whispers her ways to us. Her all knowing ways. Ways in which teach us to undeniably nurture, love, comfort, and heal ourselves.
She knows the ways in which we contribute to the making of the universe. The ways in which we make our world a better place. The ways in which are love.
Love made manifest. Love with wisdom. LOVE, Love, love.
In my desire to connect with her more, protect her more, understand her more – make love manifest more – I begin to open to her behaviours. I learn about her cycles, her rhythms, her phases. Her ebbs and flows. I observe that in knowing her more fully, I more fully know myself. For I am, we are, but an extension, a reflection of, each other. A kaleidoscope of magnificence. Of radiance. Of beauty.
I am committed to her. Devoted to her. In awe of her.
Into timelessness I step, where the arousal of my curiosity is encouraged. I am supported in this deepening relationship with my Earth Mama. And, gradually, I am more fully able to inhale her. To witness her. To see, feel, and taste the nuances of her responsiveness. The stillness within her movements. The harmony in her relationships.
Encapsulated in her essence, gratitude abound, I recognize that my responsiveness, my movement, my relationships, do not emulate those of hers. Not even close. My breadth of nuances, stillness, and harmony seem to be even less than the “Cliffs notes” version. Barely skimming the surface.
My inquisitiveness heightens. As does my confusion, my uncertainty, and my envy.
I am not even sure what it is that I envy. I have no words. I cannot explain it. All that I know is that I FEEL it. It fills my body with such ravenous grief that pungent tears rip through my veins, leaving only acrid waters in their wake.
I observe her more closely, trying to grasp that which I do not yet understand. For I know that which I see in her I have within myself.
I watch as she receives the affectionate offerings of the Heavenly Father. She lay in responsive stillness, while he devotedly laps the sands of her shores. Unadulterated passion. She reveals her excitement by patiently drinking in the mix of their salty waters, lazily she invites him entry into her dark, aqueous depths.
Such trust. Such surrender. Such rapture.
And not the rapture of unearthly measures. Not the rapture of being carried off to ethereal realms. This is – her, him, them – demonstrating the sacred communion of heaven on Earth. Mother, Father, Holy Spirit. Wrapped up in one magnificent package that has no bounds, no borders, no edges. But somehow it is contained. Harnessed. Captured.
Love made manifest.
I close my eyes.
Tender, touching lips
Trust. Surrender. Rapture. I am excited. My body rushes. My fluids stream. I am being tasted, as I taste. Mouths, bodies, breasts, clitoris, and tongue. Pleasure touches down, oozes, and then escapes me. Leaving only broad strokes of flavour that have coloured my perimeter.
Not her. Not Mama. She is impregnated. Imbued. Infused with this exquisite, nameless elixir.
She begins to divulge to me that it is through her tolerance, of such unimaginable pleasure, that she is able to indulge herself in such delicious euphoria. And it is through this pure ablution that his hunger is fed.
I still do not know what it all means. I have much to learn. I am receptive.
The reverberations of Ralph Blum’s utterances permeate me in my receptive state…”You must fertilize the ground for your own deliverance.” And somewhere in the distance Susan Chernak Elroy murmurs in agreement…”For new growth to be genuine and enduring, the ground must be well prepared and that preparation takes time.”
I begin to prepare. Bit by bit. I tenderly strip away all that I have been taught, and have experienced about my body, about my sexuality, about love.
I close my eyes.
I spiral inward.
I’m going home.