Vaginas are Portals to the Unmanifested

Prefer to listen? Here’s the sound cloud link to audio for “Vaginas are Portals to the Unmanifested” read by yours truly.

For the last couple of months, I’ve awaken from my sleep with no place to be. For the first few days it was really giving my mind a flipping workout. Oh how my mind loves to take situations of which it has never dealt with to try and make sense of it; to fold it ever so neatly and place it in a cute little box, perfectly wrapped for the season and say, “Here you are, Victoria; the perfect solution.” How does one come up with the perfect solution to an issue you’ve never encountered? How Sway? Your mind will have you convinced of the lies you tell yourself.

Yes, the perfect solution backed by repetitious behavior patterns and familiar learned responses that haven’t worked out once for you, yet. I mean what’s a girl to do every single morning with no place to be; no one besides me to carry me into the temporary bliss of orgasmic forgetfulness. Although it is a familiar state of being, it was out of place for me in my recently acquired position as an educator. Dealing with such would require quite a bit a of reprogramming…but from how or where?

I went for a walk. I talked on my walk. At first, I talked to myself. Then I started talking to the the little black dot in the upper left corner of my phone screen. This just felt like something I needed to capture…purposes yet unknown.

I took a short trip. First, to SoFlo where Mike met the kids. Then a longer, one to Colorado with my sisters. It’s what I do in these situations. I leave. Funny thing I’ve noticed is that as often as I leave these situations, these situations never leave me.

After each of my getaways, I got exactly what I needed. I needed to refresh in order to process this particular situation with renewed perspective. I needed the space to separate manic from manna which requires a significant amount of manual labor if you will. Here, I understood that this was a situation that did not require a solution and certainly not one I could offer from my own mind.

Seeking Guidance

Prior to entering the Universal year 11 that is 2018, I asked what I might need to bring on the journey into the new year. After two days of meditation alone in my place, the answer was a single word: COURAGE.

I printed an image of Courage the Cowardly Dog, traced and painted him on canvas, then hung the piece on my bedroom wall as a sign post not unlike the ones in the Colorado mountains reminding you to take caution in the curves ahead; Caution not fear. Those signs didn’t say don’t go nor did they say turn back– I just understood this. Any who, I brought Courage into 2018 with me. I didn’t know what it meant or why I would need it. Although it is very, very clear to me, now.

courage the cowardly dog on canvas

Fast forward through one of the most amazing years of my life, hands down no competition, on the literal cusp of my 33rd year I find myself entering yet another season. The universe says to me, “Those old behavior and thought patterns can no longer serve you, here.” Thanks for the word. If old patterns won’t work, what of new ones, of any at all?

Lost yet again, I look to my cards…my guides often speak through them. The response came swift. “The answer is within,” they said. Still lost and now a bit frustrated, I decided to dive into “Becoming”, Michele Obama’s book I had preordered months prior and had just gotten around to downloading on Audible.

I love Michele Obama. She is exactly the bare-bones, January 17th Capriquarian I’d expect her to be (my birthday twin)…unlike Steve Harvey but then again, he’s also a man encouraging women to think like men (ewwww!). I was half hoping that reading about the life of a different person born on January 17th might offer some insight to my own life. It worked…kinda…not in the way I had expected.

Just as I was about to download Becoming, another book populated my phone screen…The Power of Now. I’ve known about this book for a while and I’ve owned it for perhaps a bit over a year and had been waiting to get my hands on it for longer than that. It ended up finding me in my usual place; lost among books in a thrift store. It was obviously time to read it now.

The (useless) Attack

There is a savage attack against sexual freedom and the freedom of sexual expression as we speak. You can educate yourself via this wonderfully written post by my blogging colleague, When will we stop fearing sex? Sorry guys, no more of my lady boobs on Tumblr.

Maybe it’s nothing and maybe it’s because the Universe is expanding at an extremely rapid rate (go look it up) and the fact that vaginas are portals to the unmanifested (you’re free to research this as well). It also might have a lot to do with the fact that the energy being released into a rapidly expanding universe is similar to that of the rapidly expanding waist lines of pregnancy in preparation for labor.

Colorado the beautiful!

Maybe it is because such a labor is used to give birth to new consciousness and I’m not talking breeding and procreation. You can keep pretending you don’t feel this energetic shift all you want. Pretending you can solve life situations with old muddled mind habits. You can’t. You could also write this off as a conspiracy theorist rant because that’s definitely an option, too.

I remember being in labor with my daughter and the midwife yelling for me to “wait, wait, wait,” because she wasn’t quite dressed to receive the birth. My daughter came through anyway and as a result, I received seven cute little stitches. Moral of the story…ready or not, here it comes.

Teen Pregnancy Revelation

This past August I attended a workshop at the Woodhull sexual Freedom summit about teen pregnancy. I’m not sure or at least I can’t recall what I might have been expecting to hear at this workshop. However I was not expecting to hear what I heard.

We’ve all been taught that teenage pregnancy is “bad”. Ask anyone and you’re likely to get the same kind of answer for the same kind of reason. What I learned at the workshop is why teens pregnancy is seen as a bad thing and why there is such a huge campaign against it.

You might think these stats come from maybe mortality rates, maybe health departments, maybe premature birth rates, perhaps even Child Protective Services, or something of that nature but no.

The facts are that individuals who become pregnant as teens are less likely to receive college degrees, less likely to hold “better paying” jobs, and therefore contribute less into the country’s GDP which is how much money the country makes. Makes total fucking sense to me, now!

In conclusion, teen pregnancy is a bad thing not because of the risk to the parents or the children but because of the lack of contribution to the revenue or the profit that this country makes.

You can look that up, too.

So if you’re expecting anyone to be honest about the uninvention of sex or if you’re accepting the whole, “We’re protecting our children,” speech as truth, I invite you to wake up. If there is any protection to be had, any that is necessary, knowing is the only protection there is.

Sexplorations

I love sex conferences. I learn more at sex conferences, particularly more things that interest me than I’ve learned at any formal institution I’ve ever attended. Interest may have been sparked at these institutions. For example, my interest in sex beyond the physical act was sparked in my GSU sex and society class junior year in college. However, this is not where or even when actual exploration of the subject occurred.

My exploration of sex actually came from a budding spiritual journey hence the name Pretty Pink Lotus Bud with reference to my pretty pink (*) spiritual journey that is constantly shedding old petals for new ones and all those other things that lotuses do and represent.

I launched this blog in February 2017 and attended my first conference just six month’s later thank’s to my blog squad and a beautiful crowd funding campaign that allowed myself as well as two others the financial privilege to embark on this journey of sexploration. I can say, never before had I been welcomed into any community with such embrace. Not in my own family, not in “work” family, and certainly not in any church family. I have made the most unexpected wonderful friendships with individuals all over the world of which sex is not a no options game. #relationshipanarchy

Since then, I’ve attended a number of conferences throughout the US and one in London.

During the most resent conference, I attended the Punany Politics workshop hosted by the legendary TyShaw. I could try and explain to y’all what this workshop was about, but I won’t. I couldn’t do it justice if I attempted. It was a language, spoken in english with several references to tribal deities that only my soul could understand. She was actually talking too fast for my mind to do anything with it and I’ve come to the conclusion that this is a great thing.

Me and TyShaw

Punany Politics

In 2010, I graduated from Georgia State University with a bachelor’s degree in marketing. With that degree came classes on macroeconomics and microeconomics, finance and accounting, and a ton of bullshit on supply and demand.

And with all this knowledge on supply and demand I’m still confused as to why I’m not legally allowed to use my pussy to capitalize on the riches that are on the other side of my orgasm.

It’s my pussy. All of this knowledge that I have about sex is my intellectual property. How does this capitalism thing work again? Never mind. I think I’m pretty familiar. It only works how mostly men making those muddled mind habit decisions I mentioned earlier believes it should work. That why part is what always gets me stuck.

Why do you care what I do with my pussy? Why is my pussy such a threat that you need to make its use for monetary purposes illegal? Why is my pussy such an issue that you need to make my individual choice to abort a pregnancy illegal? Why is my pussy such a threat that you do your best to make it illegal for me to even post pictures of it on the Internet?

Because vaginas are portals to the unmanifested and we are in labor to birth a vision this world could never perceive.

Pretty Pink Lotus Bud for sex-positive spaces; #WomensOrgasmMatter; the sexually liberated woman, proheaux, sex magic

Pretty Pink Lotus Bud for sex-positive spaces; #WomensOrgasmMatter; the sexually liberated woman, proheaux, sex magic-a sex blog about feminine sexuality, relationships, and spirituality

When did you first recognize you needed consent?

The first time I knew I needed consent.

It was May 2013. I had received a judicial order to return to my residential state that accused me of endangering my children and removing them without parental consent. In the months prior to this, my mother had ascended, I’d given birth to my second child, and found myself in a volatile domestic situation that had led to my homelessness.

The world was a dark place and I was ready to find my corner and settle in.

The dark place

I can’t remember the exact date I met Mike. Rewind to a few hours prior to our meeting, my mother in law had arrived to pick up the kids. She hadn’t seen them in a couple of months and I was exhausted. I scheduled the hand off and had planned to take refuge beneath the warmth and darkness of layers of covers: quilts, comforter and anything else I could pile on in order to block out the world and sleep away my existence.

Just as I was settling into my dark and warm, woman-made cocoon, a voice in my head said, “Fuck this shit.” I immediately popped out of bed. Not knowing how long I’d be displaced, I had tried to conserve the last $200 in my checking account knowing there would be no more coming in due to my inability to work the job I had recently secured.

I decided instead to go get a nice pedicure and temporarily forget about the fucked up situation I was in. And it worked, for as long as I was there.

When the Universe has a change of plans

As I exited the nail shop, I didn’t actually want to leave. I didn’t feel like going back into my depression. I don’t like it there. I thought of staying to get more stuff done because a girl can spend all day in the nail salon with great purpose. Then I had to realistically re-assess my money situation.

I walked towards my step mother’s red SUV digging around in my purse for the key when a voice in my head which had never been so clear before that moment said firmly, “STOP.”

I stopped and continued to search for the key in pockets and creases of my handbag. Found them and right next to them were my sunglasses. I pulled them out and placed them on my face. Then a voice said to me, “Is that what you were looking for?” Only this time it wasn’t in my head. It was coming from Mike.

Mister, Mr. Mike

Mike had been loitering in front of the barbershop next door, casually scrolling through his phone. I looked over at him, smiled from behind my sun glasses, made some brief statements and continued to the car. I sat for a moment pretending to answer a text that hadn’t actually come through silently asking the Universe to send him over. I felt like it was a long shot just because by now I was already inside the car, but I desperately needed someone to talk to.

Imagine my joy and surprise when the guy who had once been standing outside the barber shop was now at my window. I’ve never been a fan of small talk…not really. The conversations started with a bit of small talk age, place of origin, marital status, things like that, then quickly escalated to me spilling the contents of my current tragedy.

Mike decided not to join me on my pity party. Instead, he made light of it and that made me smile uncontrollably. Then to me smiling so much he responded, “That is why I had to come talk to you. Your smile is so gorgeous.” More uncontrollable smiling followed. He asked me for my phone number. I recall him say, “You said yes so fast I thought it was a no.”

When did you first recognize you needed consent?

 

I can’t put my finger on it but it’s different

I’d never met anyone like him. He asked me out on odd outings. He was extremely soft spoken. Often I had to ask him to repeat himself. He had a calming energy and the sexiest swag I know to date.

After several dates, conversations, and hand holding sessions, I wanted to take things farther. Actually I wanted to take it further days prior but I was still adjusting to my new self and trying to exercise some self-control. Which is not something I’d had to do in such a long time. Mike made it easy though.

One day he called me up and asked me would l like to go out…he listed off a couple of places to which I said no to them all. He then asked if I’d like to get a room. I promptly responded affirmatively.

It had been a while since I’d had sex with anyone besides my soon to be ex husband and it had even been several months since that had even occurred. I was a lactating mess and a nervous wreck. Mike did not care. His energy said so.

Insert Consent [HERE]

We sat on the bed beside one another almost as if it were our first time and in some ways, it was his first time with me, my first time with him, our first time experiencing such a CONNECTION which is something I would later learn.

It was so funny because I was pretending to be deeply entrenched in what was happening on the television when he tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to face him and he said to me, “Do you like to kiss; Would you like to kiss me?”

I SMILED so hard it still hurts my face when I think about it. I could not recall a time before or after that any person has asked permission to access my body. That was the most AWESOME kiss ever in the history of my life. He’d actually asked before kissing me! That was such a huge, “WHOA!” moment for me.

I love you, Mike!

Now, there is such a thing as nonverbal consent and I’m really big and obvious when it comes to this type of consent. However, it was at this moment that Mike asked me for a kiss that I realize how much validation, security, openness, and vulnerability comes with certain verbal consent. How wonderful to feel both VULNERABLE and SECURE as a simultaneous emotion!

I still have the best orgasms with him.


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Pretty Pink Lotus Bud for sex-positive spaces; #WomensOrgasmMatter; the sexually liberated woman, proheaux, sex magic-a sex blog about feminine sexuality, relationships, and spirituality- HIV Awareness

To Love Someone with HIV

I wonder why you clicked this link. Is it because you truly want to know what it’s like to love someone with HIV? Is it because you want to know if my feelings of loving someone with HIV are the same as yours? Or maybe it is because you couldn’t pass up an opportunity to stigmatize and judge yet another person with HIV?

HIV is an illusion to many of us who are not directly affected by it. It isn’t real to us: some distant celebrity or unknown persons with a substance addiction, some local fear tactic. It just doesn’t exist to us; it’s not our concern. Not knowing quite how to care.

To love someone with HIV was the most painful experience in my life. You’d think I was the one who had been diagnosed.

But why, why was it such a painful experience? There have been so many medical advances when it comes to HIV and AIDS that such a diagnoses is no longer the death sentence it was once thought to be. Today, persons diagnosed with the virus can look forward to living long and prosperous lives. Am I right?

You couldn’t be more wrong. From a perspective of physical health, that is true, because of medical advances, some persons diagnosed with HIV can live healthy lives. We’ve even made advanced steps towards prevention with PrEP (coming soon in generic form). For others, this is not so. From a social perspective, an HIV diagnoses can absolutely become a death sentence; one of shame, of guilt, and of discrimination. The stigma of HIV is now more dangerous than the actual virus itself. Not just to physical health, but psychological well being most of all.

Eradicate the stigma and discrimination associated with HIV @PrettyPinkLotusBud

Robbery by Shame

I never realized shame could actually rob a person of their will to live. But I witnessed it with my own eyes, with my own beingness as shame and guilt sucked the life right out of my mother. To know that someone you love is suffering, dying a slow and excruciating death to shame, guilt, and heavy stigmas surrounding the diagnosis of HIV is excruciating to watch.

Shame is the plague to our journey of self-realization.

My mother was HIV positive. I remember when she sat down to tell me. She spoke with such somber disappointment; an air of defeat all around her. I responded with shock which wasn’t the best response, but it’s the one that occurs when something you never thought could happen happens to you.

It was exactly this moment that HIV became real to me. It didn’t take me long to process it. Despite my initial shock, there was nothing to process. She was my mother, I loved her just the same. Her diagnoses did not matter to me and soon it left my mind altogether, but it never left hers. How could it with the stigma of HIV lingering stagnant all around us despite medical advances?

Suicide by Diagnosis

During the time after my mother had been diagnosed, she had also been diagnosed with cervical cancer. I lived a distance away so I didn’t see my mom that often. When I did see her I was constantly reminded of her diagnoses as I watched her withdraw from the world, withdraw from family, from us, her children, from her grandchild, my daughter whom I knew was her most favorite something in this life…my best gift I could have given her. The stigma of HIV had my mother by the balls if there were such a thing for her. She was cornered in a depressing and lonely place.

The hugs and kisses became fewer and the distance greater. It was like she was punishing herself, so careful not to pass her virus to others. Prior to her diagnoses, I used to say to her, “Ma, you can’t contract HIV that way.” Then she’d tell me, “That’s what they tell you now, years later they’ll be saying something different.” As a nurse, she had a lot of inside information on the “unknowns” of HIV. Just a random tidbit.

She’d tell me about her experiences and encounters with people who were aware of her diagnoses. Sometimes she’d become so hurt by the judgement, she’d erupt in anger and other times she’d laugh hysterically about the facial expressions and reactions of others. Mostly she just stayed tucked away from everything and everyone.

Eradicate the stigma and discrimination associated with HIV @PrettyPinkLotusBud

Your love is my love; Your pain is my pain.

I hurt. I hurt because she hurt because even as her daughter, not judging her and loving her just the same was not enough to overcome the social stigma of HIV. No matter what I said, no matter what I did none of it helped…none of it convinced her to fight. She tried to fake it, but like me, my mother was never good at that thing…faking. She was pretending for us which also caused me terrible pain.

There is no shame in desiring death. Death is peace.

I cried often. I prayed for God to help her see how loved she was. But all she could hear were voices of judgment crowding her in shadows of shame. I know because that’s all I could hear from her.

It hurt so much to witness my mother in such a weakened state after seeing her be so strong for so long. So much that at times I could not stand to be around her very long without bursting into tears. I tried and often times she’d console me and apologize constantly for her sadness, for her desire for death. She didn’t need to apologize, I understood much more than I ever wanted to.

Stamp out Stigma and Discrimination

My beloved mother ascended into greatness on what was Wednesday, June 27th 2012 which also happens to be National HIV Testing day first observed on June 27th 1995. Not very many family or friends knew that my mother was HIV positive and still don’t however, I doubt I have to tell you why. Even in her ascension it is still only whispered about among those of us who do know. For awhile, I was the only one she told.

I wrestled a lot with myself about whether I should write and publish this post because of the same reasons…stigmas that caused my mother to withdraw from life. But I’ve found that the more I talk about it, the more open I am about it, the less need I have to hide it, and the less shame I feel about it.

Eradicating the stigma of HIV will not be easy but it is absolutely necessary.

To learn more about the stigma of HIV visit HIV Stigma and Discrimination and Stigma and Discrimination against Women Living with HIV.

You should also check out Angry Black Hoemo’s HIV Stigma: A(nother) Tool of Homophobia & Direct Enemy of Prevention where he gives his blunt and honest perspective on the stigmas of HIV.

Free testing is available in many places on June 27th. To find out more about HIV and how you can get free testing on testing day visit National HIV Testing Day on Chronicsex.org.

Eradicate the stigma and discrimination associated with HIV @PrettyPinkLotusBud

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Is someone you love living with HIV? How does/did it affect you?

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