By Rob Moore

I must tell you I haven’t felt all that connected of late. At least not to the degree that I feel most confident and at ease. I know why. It’s because I haven’t been having sex.

“Inner Contact” by Rob Moore.

Setting out with the intention of getting it on with someone (or someones) is something I have found to be among my most hallowed ground.

There is just so much going on throughout a sexual experience for all involved.

There is the merging of our energies as well as our physical matter. Emotions, passions, heat, fluids, questions, concerns, hopes, desires and a mutual goal to enjoy the moment to the fullest runs through us all during this incredibly intense and personal event. In consideration of all that, I make my most focused effort at being clear and present as I prepare to enter such connections.

Well, it’s that very exercise that’s gone missing for me of late.

Like my sex life, Mars has pretty much been sitting still in the sky recently from our view here on Earth. Tomorrow Mars officially turns retrograde. In the weekly Planet Waves newsletter that went out Thursday, Eric writes about the influences we will likely notice as Mars moves from apparent station to reverse motion.

Where in your life have you eased off the gas pedal as Mars has slowed toward retrograde the last few weeks? For me, a number of factors has had me taking a break from sex and my usual haunts to reconsider a few priorities. Topping the list has been the quality of my sex connections — which, I must say, is echelons above where it was only a few years ago. That has everything to do with the desire to be fully present today.

From what I can tell, it’s simply part of the human experience to ask, “What next?” once we’ve reached certain plateaus. As gratifying as sexual connections in the moment — and for the moment — tend to be for me, I have been feeling pulled toward these same types of connections with one key difference: that those of us involved allow ourselves to repeat the experience. In my past, that was synonymous with becoming ‘a couple’ and moving in together. Now I want it to be a testament to our satisfaction with who we are individually.

For some, this was accomplished long ago and they called it polyamory. Such has not been my experience, and the basic concept is one I desire to bring to personal fruition. Among the barriers to realizing this goal, however, is a tragic inability for so many people to fully own their sexual experiences.

Shame following sexual engagement continues to be a prevailing condition with us here in 2016. And I continue to be rather baffled by it, too. Especially in regard to my sexual tribe — homosexual men — who frequently and rather proudly advertise their quest for recreational sex. Great by me. Let’s go for it. And give it our all. And call it a day. Period. But how about at least saying “Hi” next time we run into each other?

Strange as it seems, the concept that ‘sex equals marriage in the eyes of the Lord’ appears to have been handed down even to those who do not subscribe to religion at all. Matter of fact, right this instant I’m recalling a friend telling me several years back that he realized this very idea was lurking around in him from somewhere. His hippie parents sure didn’t verbalize anything of the sort to him. Collective consciousness, maybe? If so, kinda scary.

The concept that I am quick to embrace from that dogmatic idea is that those of us who have sex together are indeed joined by the experience. I mean, come on, we just shared something very personal and intimate. That doesn’t happen with everyone. But neither does it mean we need to conjoin physically for the rest of our days. Or ever again, if we’re not both on board with it.

Yet I believe more of us are on board with going there again than we usually admit. It’s that idea that we’ll be ‘a couple’ by the end of the month that halts the proceedings. (Or perhaps the fear that we won’t be a couple, for some.) I’m now proudly advertising I want to experience a breakthrough in this area. And most recently, I’ve felt as though the planet of sex has been hovering right over the top of me asking, “So, where is it you wanna steer this ship next?”

While we’re asking questions, what kind of sexual experiences do you want for yourself? Be honest with yourself here. It’s just you in there, after all. Okay, now, what kind of sexual experience do you think a guardian angel or a higher guide or even God of the Universe wants for you? Not very many years back my honest answers to those two questions would have been radically different. Then I had a profound inner experience.

My personal meditation and reflection practices have always taken a wildly oscillating path. Sure, I’ve been a little off my game lately, but there have been periods when the most I could do was stare into space while clutching my morning coffee. That was what I needed at that time, though, so I let it be okay.

On the other extreme, there have been periods of higher-connection that were almost off the radar. During one such period, upon connecting with what I now consider to be the higher ‘guidance-octaves’ of myself, I was led into a most unexpected state of sexual arousal.

Thinking I had let my thoughts stray off topic, I tried to bring myself back to a higher place only to find — and to be flat out told by my guidance — that I was already in it. This state of ecstasy rose higher and became so intense in heat and passion I found myself physically held against the wall. The whole time my guide, who I was able to visually perceive, was right there in apparent total control of this scene.

This was already a surreal experience for me but it crossed the line into virtually unbelievable as I was brought to full orgasm. Very strongly attuned to audible perception during this period of my life, it was pointed out to me that this connection — which had more than adequately been demonstrated — was all I ever needed to access; particularly when connecting sexually with others; regardless of how off-center the physical nature of the activities.

I had intellectually deduced many years prior that what we consider ‘holiness’ and what is at the center of sex were likely of the same essence. That audible guidance I was getting from (seemingly) out of nowhere I most certainly considered holy. The holiest of holies, actually. Having that holy presence direct me into a sexual experience was all I needed to realize with my whole being there was no separation between the two.

Find out what the Mars retrograde will mean for you in Eric’s 2016 Spring Reading. You may pre-order all 12 signs here for less than $40. Includes video readings!

I must tell you, dear reader, that even with such a consciousness-expanding experience, it still took years for me to fully assimilate it and put the idea into practice. And in many ways, Mars retrograde looks to be just the right catalyst at just the right time. Conditions have become such that I’ve slowed things down long enough to really see where I stand with both my sex goals and my higher-connection goals.

In a post several weeks back following an undesirable experience with sexual enhancement herbs, I indicated my increasing understanding that the sexual results I sought centered around being more fully in the moment. I also indicated that I did not feel ready for such a tall order.

Just as Mars began to enter shadow phase, I had an excellent chance to offer myself to an encounter wherein ‘being in the moment’ was the defining factor of the physical outcome. I was filled with gratitude as I found that — without any special effort — I was staying in the moment with all the right organs responding enthusiastically. I came to realize I had been fully ‘in the moment’ during my sexual experiences for some while and just wasn’t giving myself credit.

It almost defies explanation how readily we can sometimes discount our experiences and where we presently stand.

As Mars begins its return over Sagittarius ground this week, is there anywhere you have cut yourself off from a truly inspired answer? Is there anything that has attracted you that has appeared too good to be true? Or just plain not realistic? At minimum, it is a fortuitous time to look again. There is much to suggest that what looked unlikely before may begin to show signs of promise. Who knows… by the time this cycle is complete, you may discover you’ve been ready for some particular something all along.

By Rob Moore

I was recently at the optometrist’s office for new glasses. I could hardly focus on the glasses and frames for something else I noticed more clearly in those horrid mirrors: that the next appointment in my iPhone should be for Botox.

“Masks and a Mirror” by Rob Moore.

That won’t be happening. Among the factors weighing in is I don’t have the funds to throw in that direction. Nor do I have some fancy insurance policy I can manipulate. Besides, the very name of the drug has always sounded like a dreadful thing to have injected anywhere. And it is. It’s basically rat poison.

There is, though, a compelling and grounded case I can make for having such a procedure. I have inherited evil-looking ‘anger lines’ between my eyebrows that are so embedded I look like a Disney villain even while I’m sleeping. I already bowl people over with my Sagittarius energy. The Captain Hook look can’t be helping.

The last couple of weeks Planet Waves has been delving deeply into effects of the Uranus-Eris conjunction. In the latest Planet Waves TV Eric outlines how this conjunction influences the entire New Moon cycle just underway. He goes on to explain that over the next couple of days the Sun conjoins Uranus-Eris. With the Sun-Eris conjunction alone, there is much to consider about how we perceive ourselves. Even more when we add Uranus-rooted technology to the mix. In terms of our sex appeal, that ranges from cosmetic surgery to lap bands to iPhones.

Matter of fact, Eric reported last week that the iPhone has a very direct relationship to Eris: “…at the moment the iPhone was announced, at the Macworld convention on Jan. 9, 2007 (reasonably, the beginning of the ‘smart phone revolution’), both the Sun and Mercury in Capricorn were in a close square to Eris in Aries.”

I can vouch for the iPhone influencing my self-perception, specifically via the magical camera of delusion found in the iPhone 6/6S. After a short time snapping selfies in a variety of settings, it became quite clear how great I look through the eye of this phone time and again. Once terrified to discover what truths would be revealed whenever someone grabbed a camera, I now feel confident with my iPhone every single time.

I know those creamy, delicious photos are going to lift my spirits and my belief in myself again and again. So creamy and dreamy and delicious are these images that ABC’s Modern Family created an entire episode using only Apple devices equipped with this camera. Indeed, every actor looked flawlessly beautiful, as if works of art.

But then all of a sudden someone like my optometrist sits us down in front of some dreaded mirror of truth. The warm, soft lighting in my home coupled with the yummy magic lies of the iPhone made that stark mirror reality something of a traumatic experience for me. No colorful colloquialism here. If I didn’t have a solid connection with my non-physical self, those rough-hewn crevices I saw reflecting back would’ve moved me to take drastic action. More drastic than Botox. It’s simply how I operated before I attained a higher-vibe connection.

I must say, though, as a photographer with a professional digital camera, it is often I who is the bearer of harsh truths. I can’t tell you how many times a subject has been hurt or angry after seeing results that anyone else would’ve considered beautiful. In one such incident, the public went enthusiastically nuts over what was indeed a very hot-looking collection of pics, while the model was so disgusted he didn’t even take delivery of his copies.

This particular incident began to open my eyes to the perceptions people carry about themselves. The model being a rather beefy guy, I shot the photos as I would with anyone, displaying his true physique in the most appealing light possible. After it became clear he was dissatisfied, I did some research and found that in many of the ads in which he appeared, his face and body had been Photoshopped to look chiseled and more defined.

This is what the model had come to believe he looked like. But the real truth — which I had portrayed — is what people out in the world actually adored about him. Any perceptions to the contrary were irrelevant and not at all helpful to his feeling good about himself.

Whatever delusions — or disillusionments — any of us may be experiencing with our phones or cameras is but a glimpse of the dynamics going on for those in the public spotlight. Among the things that moved me to delve into this topic was witnessing the latest of several women whose magnetic self-expression has been severely stifled by the decision to glamorize herself.

In an effort to keep the focus on situations and dynamics, I’m choosing to use names sparingly today. The young lady in question, though, is on a fairly new sitcom that has been critically acclaimed and has a rapidly growing viewership. The cast includes some women who are rather classically beautiful. Among them, however, has been this very lively but humanly flawed chick whose off-center body language and antics have been the main reason I ever tuned in at all.

Now in its second season, this uniquely charming woman has streamlined her crooked smile with veneers; turned her strangely intoxicating googly eyes to the still, seductive, fake-lashed variety; and she now seems afraid to move her head lest her perfect hair extensions get messed up. I adored the girl that was so lively and carefree before. She is now such a stoic shell of herself that I simply do not care to watch the show anymore.

One name I will mention because she is a pioneer of this exact genre of glamorization is Roseanne. When Roseanne came onto the scene, she was the sloppy, irreverent-yet-irresistible plus-size housewife from Salt Lake City. After her sitcom reached the height of popularity, she spent a summer getting tummy-tucked, re-boobed, weaved and spray-tanned.

For sure, Roseanne got the physical attention she was after and, in the process, reshaped ideas of what is possible by humans (including surgeons). The popularity of the sitcom suffered, however, and never bounced back. She just wasn’t that simple, jolly comedian anymore. She’d become something else. And laughter was not so much a part of it.

So often in these situations, it seems to me like the life essence has been squished out of a person. Sometimes that is exactly what has happened because this was nothing more than trying to fit a dictated stereotype of beauty. In Autobiography of a Yogi, Paramahansa Yogananda refers to the idea of physical girth as part of one’s life expression. He found the heavier end of the spectrum to be his most natural physical embodiment and he wholeheartedly embraced it.

Which brings up an important distinction: cosmetic surgery or taking personal steps to transform certain physical aesthetics is not inherently ‘bad’. Like anything — from buying a pair of shoes to booking a massage — whether or not it’s a gratifying experience depends on where we’re coming from when we make the decision. When we have a vision and are genuinely inspired to shed a few pounds — or even to create a work of art — the entire process is a joy. It’s when things are motivated by fear that the process as well as the results are overshadowed by that condition.

A male actor riding a fairly recent wave of success goes to my gym. When I first started seeing him work out there, he was a stocky guy with a solid presence. I didn’t even know he was on TV. I just thought he was yet another great-looking guy in L.A. with yet another great-looking physique.

Find out what the Mars retrograde will mean for you in Eric’s 2016 Spring Reading. You may pre-order all 12 signs here for less than $40. Includes video readings!

Before long, he inexplicably upped his routine and started hemorrhaging off the pounds. Around that same time, I noticed he began to acquire a slumped posture like a couple of concrete blocks were tied around his neck. I could not help but perceive this weight-loss regimen to be part of some unpleasant burden.

Then I discovered him on TV. It was a rerun from a year prior. I saw the ’10 pounds’ that the camera adds. I saw what he — or producers — had possibly blown out of proportion. Like my beefy model subject, whatever this actor had always looked like on TV, viewers had clearly fallen in love with exactly that.

More than ever, that is a truth we can all take to heart. Whatever we see reflecting back in that department store window or that surveillance camera or even in our own bathroom mirror, that is what those who see us, converse with us, know us and love us already embrace about us. It’s who we are. It’s how we look. Whatever we’re finding to obsess about is seen through the equivalent of a microscope device with running commentary that no one else can even access.

Whenever a swirl of self-eroding doubt clouds the truth in me, the discomfort eventually makes me stop these days and consider ‘what is’. What is that one thing I can get on board with about myself right now? Maybe there’s a second thing. And maybe a third. There usually is. And by that time I’m on board an entire wave of things ‘that are’ just great with me.

Some while back that actor guy at the gym sat down on a bench right next to me. I took the opportunity to tell him I’d noticed his transformation. He thanked me. As I got up to walk away, I added, “Just so you know, you look good both ways.” I’m not sure he got where I was coming from. But maybe that’ll be in the back of his mind if one day he does.

By Rob Moore

When I saw Phillip two years ago during my visit to the speck on the map where he and I grew up, I sensed a longing from him that I couldn’t quite identify. He seemed like he wanted to linger yet he didn’t seem comfortable about that, either. I felt there was some type of sexual undercurrent happening but he left the gathering before I could clearly discern anything. Besides, we homosexuals always want to think every good-looker is secretly on our team, right?

“Unfamiliar Territory” by Rob Moore.

I got word that Phillip had taken his own life this week. Given certain details of a less-than-joyous life at home for him, I started to consider that perhaps I hadn’t been completely off base after all.

Life pointed out in a few ways this past week that it would serve to delve further into sexual concepts connected with Mars, currently slowing toward a retrograde phase that begins April 17. And I suppose just in case life hadn’t made its message clear, along comes Eric in his Planet Waves TV segment and graphically shows us that masculine Mars has a clitoris. The insight Eric offers is that there’s an aspect of female in the male, male in the female, and in so many ways we are one and the same.

I think that pinpoints a truth that many are waking up to and demonstrating unabashedly. Unfortunately, a great many who need this wider view are trying their hardest to stay asleep, it would seem. And it’s not doing their emotional wellbeing any favors. With this Mars retrograde, though, we’ll all be inclined — to one degree or another — to go back over key aspects of our own inner landscapes. Some real pressure-relieving freedom could well be imminent.

It is not my intent to make Phillip’s tragically ill-informed choices the central focus of this post today. I do, though, want to consider some of the misunderstood feelings I strongly suspect were at play. Feelings — or perhaps more accurately ‘impulses’ — which I am discovering more and more men, in particular, are experiencing.

My meeting with Phillip two years ago was kind of a rare thing and it might not be amiss to call it ‘special’. As I’m essentially the town’s weird uncle who moved away, never married and is almost certainly a homo, I’m generally met with a level of circumspection by those with whom I once shared a close connection. There was a tinge of that with Phillip; but what I perceived more than anything was along the lines of, “Oh, wow. Somebody I can just be myself with. Somebody who’s not expecting anything from me. Whew.”

What I felt from that point is something I have felt from other straight and/or married men with increasing frequency in the last few years: A pull to either hug or hold or touch in some way. This is not so much a sexual pull as a calling out for pure and simple masculine energy and presence. In a way, there’s something more powerful than sex going on because it goes right to the vulnerable emotional center. A center that in men is still very typically closed off and rarely attended to. And just for the record, a split second man-hug or a chest-bump between bros does not address the deep and abiding nature of this need in question.

For quite some time I have been part of a deeper dynamic of this sort with a guy I see frequently. It went as far as a brief discussion about the nature of our connection but all indications point to fear as this guy’s current response of choice. From what I’ve been able to put together, he recently ran to Vegas to marry a girl he’d been seeing. If that was an attempt to prevent himself from having feelings towards me or other males, it doesn’t appear to have worked. I continue to feel that emotional pull between us quite regularly.

The women I have been close with have demonstrated a far greater willingness to embrace this sort of nurturing among themselves. Although they may be enthusiastically into penis, they seem to be able to connect physically — as opposed to sexually — with close female friends. This can be as mild as extended holding after having a heart-to-heart on the sofa, or as involved as touching and caressing during a sleepover.

One of the ways life further pointed me towards this discussion this week involved an awkward yet serendipitous fumbling of the TV remote that landed me on the new channel Viceland from Spike Jonze. I was instantly captivated by Ellen Page who, for me, possesses such a grounding presence. She and her co-host Ian Daniel (for whom I also have a soft spot) were visiting Tokyo, Japan, for their series ‘Gaycation’ about global LGBTQ culture.

They were interviewing the owner of a successful business that rents out individuals to LGBTQ people who need someone to pass as their heterosexual friend or partner for family and work-related gatherings. That this business is highly successful speaks volumes about the level of acceptance in Japan. But I think even more telling is the fact that during the interview, the LGBTQ customers weren’t even referred to as ‘in the closet’. It was presented more like ‘just the way it is’ for them.

Although on other parts of the globe we’re ever-so-slowly increasing our acceptance, it’s still a world where fear runs pretty damn rampant around any sexual or gender identity that isn’t ‘straight’ down the middle. It’s understandable to me, therefore, that males who want to fit the traditional stereotype of ‘man’ would have deep inner conflict with enmeshing their emotional and physical needs with another male. Even when sex is nowhere in the equation.

Not a fan of anything even kind of connected with the Kardashians, I was extremely skeptical of the motivation of Bruce Jenner to become Caitlin Jenner. Sorry, but I really suspected it may well be a last-ditch effort at grabbing the spotlight somehow. Besides, with the financial backing to pay for 50 makeup artists and 150 stylists, if so desired, Tom Selleck could pull off an evening gown and look quite good his own damn self.

But then I came to see how Caitlin has not sought to discard the soul essence of Bruce. More than trying to emanate ‘woman’, Caitlin seems more interested in emanating authenticity. At minimum, Caitlin has handled this transition with dignity.

I throw the Caitlin thing into the ring because — although about as far as the pendulum swings when it come to males embracing their feminine aspects — this has definitely been a consciousness-shifting event. It may be more accurate to say it’s its own consciousness-shifting vortex. Literally armies of transsexuals came before Caitlin Jenner but none of them were an Olympic-medaled hero hailed by testosterone-fueled men the world over.

Find out what the Mars retrograde will mean for you in Eric’s 2016 Spring Reading, which we’ll publish in mid-April. This is a comprehensive 12-sign reading; you may pre-order all 12 signs here for less than $40. Includes video readings!

This is the pinnacle of male embracing his female side. This is Mars with a clit spread-eagle before God and man. Straight man who plays football and spits on the sidewalk and likes sex with clits.

Sure, men as a whole have softened quite a bit the last couple of decades. I think, though, that we are undergoing changes that make a strong case for accelerated growth. In this case, accelerated acceptance. Not just of others but of what’s beginning to be revealed inside ourselves. How much easier is it to work with the universe than against? Not much of a contest, really.

Change of this sort is no small feat. There are numerous layers of reconsidering, reprioritizing and unlearning that require our full credence. Even if Phillip had yielded to some kind of prolonged hug or some kind of letting go into the man who stood before him two years ago, it is not likely that would have resolved such needs in him forevermore. Depending on his psychological outlook, it may have even caused greater conflict for him.

But if perceived as a gratifying experience, I feel it would have likely made it clear to Phillip that room needed to be made in his life to fill this void. For a small-town straight guy with a wife and kids, I can understand how unrealistic that seems. But that’s only because we haven’t exactly allowed this sort of dynamic to be real for us yet. It’s happening, though. I’ve been feeling it.

By Rob Moore

First, a little personal history lesson: I never paid attention in history class. I graduated from high school at the top of my class but the God-honest truth is I left not knowing a damn lick of history. As with other classes that I perceived to be holding me hostage at the time, I just memorized the list of facts and pushed ‘All Clear’ once the test was over.

“Looking Deep” by Rob Moore

With particular thanks to The Smithsonian Channel and Netflix, I have become quite the latent history enthusiast. Of deep interest to me are those individuals who carved paths others never dared to conceive.

Explorers like Ernest Shackleton, who not only lived through years frozen to the bone trying to get to Antarctica but managed to talk a team of men into enthusiastically going into the unknown to freeze right alongside him. Their inexplicably enduring spirits that kept them trudging onward following dead-end after dead-end had me in tears throughout the whole presentation.

This past week my every synapse was engaged in the story of a visionary with a different brand of perseverance, Theodore Roosevelt. I am so inspired by his life path — his difficult infancy a pivotal part of it — that I simply cannot dismiss the well of inspiration to bring key aspects of his trailblazing life forward today. Yes, today, in this astrologically inclined article about sex.

During the course of watching documentaries, I have noticed something from films of crowded streets shot between the 1890s into the early 1900s that I feel is telling about the collective sexual consciousness of the time. These early movies were frequently played back at a faster rate than they were shot, making for a fast-forward look to the action. Cars and carriages and people weave in and out amongst each other at a rather comically fast pace.

Looking at quickened crowds of pedestrians from this era, rather notable is a common gait among them marked by a swaying back and forth on stiff-looking legs and tightly held torsos. For my money, this spells all kinds of pent-up energy, not the least of which would be sexual energy at the base of the spine.

It’s no secret that this was an era of great sexual repression. I doubt anyone would find that to be any kind of news. I point to the tightly held movements, though, as an outward physical manifestation of that collective repression. And majorly so.

Then along came Theodore Roosevelt, who brought a very different energy to the scene. Rarely had a central figure exhibited such an exciting presence during that era and certainly not a political figure. Given his youthful exuberance and boundless drive, I thought for sure I would find he was an Aries when I looked up his natal chart.

But, alas, the Mars get-up-and-go bursting forth from T.R. was due to his Sun in Scorpio, Mars exclusively ruling both Aries and Scorpio prior to the discovery of Pluto. Even so, it was not until I learned he was described as ‘an unstoppable steam locomotive’ that the watery Scorpionic energy made perfect sense to me.

Eric has been taking a close look at this year’s Mars retrograde that is now in early shadow phase. As this journey is accentuated by working from the inside out, I find the life of Theodore Roosevelt to illustrate that idea in ways I never would’ve expected from a Westerner who emerged during his period. In a very real way for him, it was either find his way from the inside or perish.

Born on Oct. 27, 1858, Teddy Roosevelt spent his first years of life in the grips of severe asthma. His first memories were of the sensation of being strangled to death while gasping for breath and for his life. When he overhead his parents in the hallway discussing their expectation — given his frail and sickly body — that he would likely die soon, this stirred a spirit of determination within him.

After several very uncertain years, Teddy’s father — whom he completely adored — sat Teddy down and told him if he were ever to survive this life, he would have to build his own body from the inside out. This would involve dedication to exercise and regimented activity aimed at strengthening his organs as well as his outer body.

With that, Teddy Roosevelt was off and running. Literally. He taught himself complex gymnastics and eventually began rounding up guys for intense wrestling matches that tested the endurance of the best of them. Coming to embody the undeniable evidence that his intentions, actions and fortitude manifested real results, he set out into the world with that powerful outlook and paved the way for change after change after change.

I believe one of the major changes Roosevelt set into motion was making it okay to get down and get a little dirty. He was by birth a proper aristocrat who again and again got in touch with himself by connecting with literal earth. Hunting, ranching, building and basically rolling around in the dirt spoke to his soul.

After doing so, he’d climb back onto the podium and tell it just like he felt it. From the footage I’ve seen, he delivered straight from the gut; from the base of the spine; from the depths of his being. This impressive demonstration that it was within the realm of a dignified life to loosen up and let one’s authentic self hang out had to begin chipping away at the collective consciousness, if not take it completely by storm.

Whether or not Roosevelt had anything to do with it, about every twenty years from there a great leap was made toward embracing our humanness, including our sexual natures. Society really started cutting loose during the Roaring Twenties. Despite being born out of war propaganda, notable steps toward female equality began taking place via Rosie the Riveter in the Forties. And of course, the big crescendo: the sexual revolution of the Sixties. By that time, walking around stiff-legged and repressing energy was falling very much out of favor.

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Oh, believe me, people are still very capable of repressing their energy. I was uptight and militant well into my late 20s.

As we are currently in the long, slow shadow phase of a Mars retrograde that will ultimately take us back over Sagittarius and Scorpio ground, release from the inside out is something I have in my sights to explore in upcoming posts. My own dramatic tale of energetic release will feature in at least part of that.

As for this weekend and the days to follow, I believe it is an excellent time to celebrate how far we have come and where we stand now. A key component to witnessing an influx of whatever we most desire is to practice genuine gratitude for the amount that it exists in our lives this instant. ‘Key’ meaning that it doesn’t happen until that component is in place. I let this one slip right past me for years, until I saw how things begin to blossom when I merely acknowledge what is presently working for me.

Whether sexual or not, consider an experience you had that exhilarated you to your core. How great is that?

What came together that made that experience possible? How great is that?

How has that made you the person you are right this very second? How great is that?

In the words of Theodore Roosevelt, as if a shimmering light from beyond the dark ages: “Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.”

How great is that?

By Rob Moore

I’m just gonna go ahead and ask that we not think this week. Or at the very least not think when we don’t need to be thinking. In the case of thought withdrawal, might I suggest thinking, “I feel.”

The Here and Now by Rob Moore.

“I feel, I feel, I feel, I feel…” Over and over until that nanosecond we come into the truth of it. More to follow about this practice, which has improved many a tense situation for me.

Quite a bit is going on in the days to come which has the power to elicit some changes in how we feel, as well as how we choose to approach things. In addition to the Sun entering Aries on Sunday, it’s the first day of Northern Hemisphere spring, which truly brings a feel all its own. And just days later on March 23 is the penumbral lunar eclipse.

This week on Planet Waves FM, Eric offered a rather deeply formed interpretation of this upcoming eclipse. Opposed by the Sun and Mercury in Aries (the self), the eclipse of the Moon in Libra (projection of self) was suggested by Eric as a call to ‘feel our own presence’ when we enter the room. In the simplest of terms, this means ‘being present’ but it also implies engaging — at least energetically — in the dynamics of our current environment.

A few weeks back I was at a private but very well attended fetish play party. The very nature of this periodic gathering is about feeling the vibes between one another and taking our cues from there. This means trading in talking and hashing out plans for purely heeding what our feelings and physical responses reveal is most mutually desirable.

In my article two weeks ago, I alluded to my inner conflict early on about taking the necessary steps to enter the fetish world. Well, I discovered long ago how attuned these individuals can be, as well as how well they are able to stay truly in the moment. From there, any doubts inside me about the value of these connections evaporated completely.

At this particular event, I had been noticing this very good-looking guy standing rather conspicuously in pretty much the same spot all night. A bit puzzled as to how it could be he wasn’t drenched in sweat from intense action by this point, I meandered to his side. Very soon thereafter, with the opening of his word-hole, the mystery was solved:

“So, I’ve been noticing the couple over there by the bench. The guy is someone I used to see in college and the chick goes to my gym. I never would’ve put them together but that goes to show you what I know, right? So why haven’t you asked me what I’m into yet? Okay, well, I’ll just tell you my big thing is boots but not just any boots…” And blah, blah, blaaahhh ad nauseam.

Truth was my heart went out to this guy tremendously. Here in the epicenter of intuitive feeling, he was trapped inside his own head. Not trapped so much as listening to its false insistence that foregoing analysis for feeling would be his demise. Quite to the contrary, it would be his release into freedom. It would, however, be the demise of that voice of limit and fear. The exact reason the voice insists so fervently. (Exhibit A: The Mighty and Powerful Oz.)

For much of my life I lived inside the confines of the analytical brain. Don’t get me wrong; it’s freaking awesome for analyzing facts, figures and data. It’s how I’m able to compose these sentences for you right now. There comes a time and a place along our path, however, when analysis has taken us as far as it can and it comes down to going with the gut. Heeding our intuition. Acting on instinct.

I spent my youth aiming to get into a prestigious design college. When I finally got in, you better believe I completed everything fully and on time and I gave 110 percent. I mean I literally gave more than I had to give, as several times I collapsed from exhaustion. Meanwhile, these ‘whatever, dude’ lackadaisical types would tack one great-looking idea on the wall that wasn’t even the assignment and get acclaimed for it. Sure, they’d get a C-minus for the class, but they also got flown to Germany to meet with the heads of design teams.

This was perhaps the single most important principle I learned from that entire educational curriculum: “Follow what calls you and fuck the facts.” Okay, well, perhaps more responsibly: “Allow what calls you to be what shapes the facts.” And so it is has been in my emotional, physical and sexual connecting.

Whether with an individual or a scenario like that fetish play party, I first collect all the ‘real world’ hard facts I can about what is going on here. If I’m not comfortable with what’s at stake, I will pass completely. End of discussion. Once I feel a situation is one I can respond to comfortably and naturally, I enter wholeheartedly. I then, for all intents and purposes, pass the baton to my instincts and my feelings, both the deep-within kind and those along my physical borders. Essentially, I let go into the energetic swirl and enjoy.

Believe me, any ways of living that work splendidly for me these days are the result of ongoing learning curves of meditation, grounding and centering. It is only fairly recently that I became able to meld fully with casual partners while possessing an understanding that it was actually wise and mutually fortuitous to do so.

Even after I had received some formal training in meditation, I was turned on to a completely unrelated practice that turned out to be invaluable to bringing my self fully into the moment. One of the keys of meditation that escaped my understanding for years was that attempting to still our thoughts is practically futile if we haven’t first joined with our feeling center.

During a facilitated group to rise above our fears, the counselor asked us to say over and over, “I feel, I feel, I feel,” all the while scanning for what we truly did feel. I suspect the first thing I felt back then was anger or irritation at being asked to do stupid shit like this exercise. Whatever the case, the next step was to go with it; to feel it. To just sit there and feel angry. “I feel angry, I’m angry, I’m angry…”

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Turns out that if we really, honest-to-God get in there and give everything we’ve got to feeling angry, it dissipates into something else. Quite often it reveals fear that’s been underneath the surface. If so, we chant, “I’m afraid, I’m afraid, I’m afraid…”

Once again, if we get in there and feel every ounce of that fear, it rapidly dissipates into something else again. After all is chanted and done, when we give ourselves permission to feel what we truly feel — without judgment — it turns out to be the shortest path to peace and feeling okay inside.

Feelings are like ripples on the water: ever changing and beyond our ability to fully contain. This is why allowing them to be felt and allowing them to move on by is what frees us inside. So if the idea of feeling your own presence in the presence of others sounds like a tall order, I would suggest giving yourself a free pass the next time you walk into such a room. Just this once, feel, feel, feel what you feel with no attempts at being socially gracious or correct or poised. This is about you right now.

And, hey, if it sounds more like your thing, set out to feel, feel, feel your next intimate connection. Feel the excitement, feel the fear, feel the energy and keep on feeling till you feel the bliss. If it helps, let your partner or partners in on your experiment. Oh, wow… how incredible would that be? Everybody feeling what they feel… in the moment… feeling each other… feeling together… feeling fully… feeling now.

By Rob Moore

With all the intense astrology afoot recently, not the least of which includes being between eclipses, I feel like some self-indulgent navel gazing might hit the spot right now. As much as I mean taking some time to check in with ourselves, I also mean quite literally checking out our navels.

“Perception” by Rob Moore.

I might be inclined to take it somewhat further, though. Further than the navel. Further than the gazing. Feeling somewhat put through the ringer myself lately, I was genuinely inspired to look this weekend at giving ourselves what we need.

Then when I heard Eric’s mention of the numerous conjunctions to the Moon over the past few days, I took that as a signpost I was indeed on a solid course. Of particular interest to me was Eric’s in-depth look at the Moon-Ceres conjunction and its connection to how we nourish ourselves. Not just with food. Emotionally, sexually, and in all ways.

Anyone who has taken steps to embrace who they are at their very center will tell you how gratifying and empowering it feels. Well, the same principle applies to embracing our physical selves. Among the gratifying changes is a deepening appreciation for our sexual experiences. Whether we’re talking two or more participants or just one.

First, a little backstory about my own years of self-appreciation. Most articles about sex and relating that I see out there assume everyone is in a relationship. And if not, then we certainly must be looking for one. The last time I was in a bar, more than a few times I got, “How can you be single? What’s the story, dude?”

The story is I found relatively early in my life that I actually enjoy being on my own. As much as I relish connecting with others physically, emotionally and energetically, I have always valued my alone time tremendously.

Once it became clear I don’t care for functions centered around who’s who and who they’re with, nor for small talk that goes nowhere — all in the name of having a date on Friday night — I settled completely into the role of being happily single. I will, however, be the first to admit it takes some balls to arrive at that big showy event with just you, yourself and thou. After a few times, though, it kinda gets to be its own rush.

It was no small thing that I had some valuable encouragement early on by a popular socialite Libra. After almost two years of running into each other, he turned to me one night and said, “I’ve been wanting to tell you how much I think you rock. You’re like this mystery loner man. I see you everywhere. At parties, walking down the street, in lecture halls… you always look so comfortable. Damn, man, I want some of that.”

Gratifying as it was to have achieved ‘comfortable in my own skin’ status, there were parts of me wrapped by that skin that I had yet to get genuinely okay with. Or more accurately, even consider getting okay with.

I’m just recalling as I write this that it wasn’t long after that uplifting Libran compliment that I had to see the doctor about something on my ass. We’re not just talking ass, either… sphincter land. As it turned out, I had to squat over a hand mirror twice a day to apply medicine to a very tiny portion of Mr. Starfish.

Blargh! How I cringed at having to undertake this disgusting labor of Hercules.

I had never been an ‘ass man’ even when others’ rears were the asset in question. I mean, I wasn’t averse to going there on some hottie while in the throes of passion but it just wasn’t my go-to place. And due to many unpleasant early sexual experiences, I was not a fan of others trying to get on with me back there.

Anyway, I managed to get through those seven days of squatting, looking and applying. It wasn’t long, however, before I wound up having to go through the whole ritual again. This time, though, it was bugging the hell outta me that looking at my own rectum was causing so much inner turmoil.

In the late 1980s I was introduced to Louise Hay and her now infamous campaign to love ourselves. I adored Louise Hay. I secretly played her guided meditations over and over and over again. She was the embodiment of total acceptance and a voice of nurturing love I desperately needed to hear.

One of my favorite Louise Hay points is that babies pee on themselves and play with their own poo, all the while laughing and laughing because shame has yet to cast its forbidding shadow. I could see clearly, therefore, the value and basic birthright of embracing every part of ourselves fully.

But I always hit certain walls with her requests. She was big on mirror work, ever instructing us to look at ourselves while affirming how wonderful we were. And it didn’t stop there. Every single body part was to be gazed upon and loved and thanked for its functions. I agreed with the goal. It was the airy-fairy approach combined with genitals and anuses that made me feel disingenuous and sort of creepy.

Now, with this mirror on the floor reflecting back my own nether regions, it struck me that to come to some real acceptance I needed to consider what I actually did like about it. Or what I thought was interesting or whatever. Just something to get the positive vibes flowing.

Well, truth was I thought that asshole I was looking at was kinda freaky and a little wrong. But wrong in a way that was sorta hot. I wouldn’t want to get a photo of it with my family for the mantle. I could, though, imagine letting somebody else I thought was hot look at it. Or touch it. Or do other stuff that was kinda wrong and hot and yet felt good at the same time.

After sticking with this line of consideration for a bit, it occurred to me that getting okay with our weird parts and weird turn-ons is still self-acceptance. Maybe even a multiplicity of acceptance layers are in there, involving body parts, left-of-center interests, others into freaky interests, showing, seeing, touching… oh, for sure… lots of layers of acceptance going on there.

Please know this wasn’t like some grand epiphany for me after which I set out to find all the freaky and hot places on myself in an effort to be some super self-accepting sex human. I instead found this sort of self-exploration and appraisal became my way of responding to barriers as they came up.

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Slowly, over time, I have reconsidered my feelings and viewpoints about my ball sack, my legs, the way my buns hang kinda flappy-like at the base, my armpits, even the scents I naturally produce.

I was satisfied to keep these aspects of my body and my self quietly in the dark for much of my life. That never prevented me from hooking up or making connections or experiencing mind-blowing sex. I discovered, though, how much more deeply gratifying sex can be when I’m comfortable enough with myself to let go into another person. Feeling okay about my holes and personal places, I now feel more inclined to find out what’s going on with theirs.

The last few days, though, I have been quite satisfied taking care of my personal places on my own. Have you felt a similar pull within yourself? May I suggest starting with your navel?

I’m glad to have one at all. Major surgery closed it up for a long time and I thought it was gone forever. But it’s back. As is my happy trail, which has always made me and others quite happy. I like how it feels. I think the way it leads down, down, down is kinda hot.

So, what do you like about your navel?

By Rob Moore

If I told you there is an important reason you want what you want, would you agree? Even if what you want seems to be almost totally about sex? What if I said any seemingly impenetrable force field of guilt is akin to a frightened bully? And that it poofs into nothingness as soon we merely decide to walk through it?

“Eclipsed Heart” by Rob Moore.

On March 8 or 9 (depending on your whereabouts), we experience a total solar eclipse in Pisces, which Eric examined from numerous angles earlier this week. Among the key themes at play is that of considering patterns and ideologies we’ve outgrown.

What comes to mind for me is a very dramatic but freeing season of eclipses many years back wherein new sexual vistas versus expired promises was strongly in focus. Dang. If only I could have seen it that clearly when I was in the thick of it — the heartache that would have been spared.

But what I wanted so deeply just seemed so unreasonable… unloving, even. And the more I doubted this inner pull, the faster the external nightmare added layers of crap. Until that fateful day when my very being said, “No. More. Crap.”

In my early adult years, I was rebound guy. All the time. Ever bouncing from one extreme sort of relationship to another. This time, I had bounded off a controlling jerk into the arms of a warm-hearted, sensitive soul. I mean, he wound up controlling me, too; it’s just he was really, really warm-hearted about it.

It was that warm heart and kind sensitivity that reigned supreme in the bedroom. Lots of cuddling. Lots of endearing hugs. Lots of smooches.

Lots of anything that wasn’t sex.

Oh, sure, sex happened, but not lots of it. And when it did, Bill either acted like a juvenile — something that was the exact opposite of arousing for me — or he solely used his hand to take care of business before rushing to see what was on TV. If not during.

Nevertheless, our relationship managed to put down some roots. We talked about everything: philosophy, religion, self-acceptance, what the neighbors were doing… everything. Well, everything except sex. And how it was basically non-existent for us.

The rest of our scenario is one you’ve no doubt witnessed many times. It may even be one you’re living yourself to some degree; a gorgeous place on the hill with breathtaking views, well respected in our careers, and an ever growing mutual friendship base. Invested enmeshment in lavish and expanding circumstances.

Before I even entered this relationship I was undergoing deep-seated changes. We’re talking core, foundational stuff. It was like one of those animated drawings that slowly and randomly draws lines here, there and yon. Only after sticking with it for a while can you begin to piece together what’s being rendered. From what I could tell, Bill did look for a great while to be part of that drawing.

Residing in a straight-laced suburb up north, I used to pick up these free weekly rags that came out of Hollywood. Kinda smutty, kinda not. But at least half the time some deep fetish fantasy scene was displayed on the cover. At first these scenes just seemed stupid to me. But the more glimpses I got into this world, the harder it became to deny that it was calling out to me.

Adding to this was a steady stream of tempting offers to engage sexually outside this relationship. Some cheating proposals, others pleas for me to leave my current situation. Young and not getting the sex I wanted, it was sickening to even think about turning down these offers. Oh well, I was sickened nonetheless. I had given my commitment to this relationship. Even then I was a man who kept my commitments. Difference back then was I often kept them only because it was ‘the right thing to do’.

But if the game of ‘right’ is to be true to ourselves and to others, then how could this be the right thing? Such questions my brain could not find a way to let in. Yet.

During these years I had added perhaps the greatest catalyst for my change: A Course in Miracles, which is the topic of Eric’s weekly Miracle Hour program. At a very deep level several key ideas were beginning to form in me:

1) Nothing means what I think it means.

2) Maybe there’s a different way of seeing what I deem ‘right’.

3) Maybe there’s a different way of seeing what I deem ‘wrong’.

4) Only what is loving is true.

But before any this could take root firmly, my partner became gravely and dramatically ill. He had to be driven to doctor appointments and rehabilitation sessions. Someone had to cook for him and tend to his needs and be strong in the face of his increasingly fearful outlook.

That someone was me. So I drove. And cooked. And tended. And held my office job. And knew to the depths of my soul that this was not a life I could live for long. Plus the pull toward that sexual freedom and exploration had only grown stronger. Thanks to that rag mag, I now knew all sorts of places in L.A. to find exactly what I sought.

Enter a pair of eclipses at this point in my saga. My experience of eclipse energy is like suddenly realizing, feeling and understanding what it’s like outside of a certain box. Sure, we have the technical choice to crawl back in but now that we see what we see, that becomes a ridiculous proposition. So our very being picks up and heads toward the only place that makes sense.

On what appeared to be a day like any other, I came home from work to make my ailing partner lunch. My insides pulsing with the desire to be in L.A., and it becoming gut-wrenchingly clear that obligation had taken the place of love here, I dropped the mayonnaise knife to the floor and then dropped to my knees right alongside it. I sobbed uncontrollably and trembled in powerlessness.

Bill was so rattled he pulled himself off the couch, came over, and asked what was wrong. Through what I’m sure was the ugliest of cries, I somehow managed to get out the words, “I’m so sorry but I have to go.”

Any guesses as to what his reply was?

“Well, sure, of course you do.”

The conversation wasn’t over quite that quickly and the rest of the afternoon involved lots more ugly cries. Plus, additional unspoken truths were yet to be revealed. Still, though, the big shift had occurred.

I’m not sure if the Moon was eclipsing the Sun that very day or not but basically — poof! — doorways opened. Changes began to take shape. That very week I was asked to accompany my boss to the main L.A. office for a day. I had an instant rapport with the staff. I expressed my interest in relocating. One conversation led to the next until I was offered a position.

The tale I bring you today is about moving past old ways of being to claim what is ours to have. Breakups are not necessarily part of that process. If you missed it, please take a look at my first article a couple of weeks back about demonstrating your desires to your partner. It’s all about getting what you need from the very one you’re with right now.

But I’d like to shed some light onto the gravity of my pull to explore the fetish world back then. Among the processes I was undergoing at the start of that relationship was accessing visual perception of answers during meditation. Inquiries about my greatest teaching and learning (a la this past week’s Miracle Hour) repeatedly indicated shadowy, even sinister-looking characters in leather, rubber and various fetish gear.

At first I thought this was merely wishful thinking. Glorified fantasizing. But as the images and characters persisted for months during my meditative states, I eventually stopped poo-pooing my perceptions — and therefore me. And therefore them. And therefore an already powerful connection.

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Among the truths revealed between Bill and me later on — we’re talking years later — was that Bill began wanting to be released from our situation about halfway into it. This was like a terrible tragedy to me when I learned of it, for him and for me.

To think that we both sat there not doing what we wanted when the truth was, it was all anybody wanted. It was from here that I began putting my truth on the table for all concerned no matter what. I now saw any upheaval as irrelevant to gaining mutual freedom.

As it has turned out, the fetish folk I have encountered through the years have effectively demonstrated the idea that nothing means what I think it means. Truly, all that garb and gear is meaningless — just different shapes and colors adorning some unexpectedly wise and tenderhearted individuals. Well, unexpected before. These days, it’s all I really see.

So what’s calling out to you? Meditative visions not required. You already know. You already feel it. Maybe you’ve even tried to push it away a few times yourself. I would love it if you would take it from someone who wasted years discounting what persisted: If it persists, there is a reason. A good one. One you want to find out about. And enjoy finding out about. It doesn’t require a total solar eclipse to at last take such bold steps like these. But it just might help all the right doors swing open a bit easier.

So many times before, my leaps of faith — my daring to walk into the total darkness — had rewarded me brilliantly. Clear-cut improvements to my circumstances came steadily into view. The only thing clear about my choices this time around was that they’d landed me in a fog.

“Trip” by Rob Moore.

One person’s mellow glow following a hit off a joint is another’s nightmare cruise to the land of the lost. It was shown to me long ago that I’m the nightmare cruise guy.

Sure enough, there I lay, not at all sure I’d feel like getting out of bed in time for a jam-packed day of appointments still 36 hours away.

While Eric has been delving further this week into the highly concentrated activity going on in Pisces, my confounding experience with a sexual performance potion has this weekend’s Sun-Neptune conjunction in Pisces running right down the middle of it.

I am fondly familiar with Neptune’s wonderfully inspiring and visionary qualities. But I’m no stranger to its capacity to be misty and foggy, if not downright deceptive at times, and it’s these qualities that take center stage in my story today.

As Amanda Painter pointed out on Thursday, it’s not uncommon for Neptunian influences to be felt before the aspect is exact. Perhaps similar effects have become more obvious for you the closer we’ve gotten to the weekend.

Escapism was not on my agenda when I accepted the offer to indulge in this sexual enhancement potion. Quite to the contrary, I wanted to be majorly engaged. Engaged in a more exhilarating and fantastical way than I ever had before. You might say that is what tested the groundedness of my aims.

As with most interests, my sexual voracity is ever moving up and down the scale. I find regular breaks from sex quite beneficial to my body and my overall sexual appetite. However, during periods when sex is pretty much a constant for me, I can begin to question if it’s as good as it could be. Most recently, I experienced a conflicting mix of lackluster physical sensation with a sexual appetite that was making its hunger very clear.

Flash forward to a casual connection who listens to my dilemma and claims he has just the thing. Tea concoctions he’d read about online were supposedly making everything more awesome for him: sensation, stamina, full-body orgasm, and even girth when formulated specifically for men. He rattled off a bunch of ingredients that meant nothing to me; but since it was all natural, he assured it would be an asset to my overall wellbeing.

Betting these were largely a bunch of empty promises anyway, I drank it on down. Well, right away I started to feel lightheaded. Being one of the first to try Viagra when it was introduced, I know any of its effects pretty much just go right to the organ in question. This potion, though, was yielding a definite high. Truthfully, it made me feel far less sexually potent.

Oh, but that was only a feeling. Fairly soon that girth arrived on the scene. And other dimensional enhancements, too. Geez, it was like a frickin’ Polska kielbasa between my legs. And that gave rise to… well… activity. Major activity. Exhilarating and fantastical activity!

Sure, I felt a little sick to my stomach and my heart was pounding with a heaviness that concerned me but — damn! — we were going at it like crazed animals. When at last came the orgasm, it was indeed so full body this usually inaudible climaxer let out sounds I am quite sure vibrated eardrums all through the building.

If that wasn’t enough — and apparently it wasn’t — usually one to call it quits after the crescendo, I wanted to go again. I felt it would be a regrettable mistake not to. And so we went again. I was wincing with areas of tenderness much of the time, but we went again anyway, by golly. And if those tenants’ eardrums weren’t vibrated before, they were now.

But on the drive home, it became deeply clear just how horrible I was feeling. ‘Tired’ was hardly the word. ‘Depleted’ was more like it. And whereas I questioned if certain organs were still functioning, others felt as though they had been hit by a Taser.

I was so glad to finally get into bed. So tired I felt literally threadbare, I closed my eyes to welcome sleep. Accustomed to drifting off right away, I never drifted. I just laid there, my heart pounding through every capillary, my mind and eyes dead to the world but my underlying body buzzing with electricity.

Then, just as I was concluding that no roll in the sheets — no matter how fantastical — is worth this aftermath, it became apparent that something in that potion was a diuretic. I had already peed like ten times and now I had to get up and go again.

Hour after hour, I would close my eyes, open them, get up, go to the bathroom, lay back down and start all over again. The only variation on the theme was that after about twenty trips to pee, my prostate started enlarging and it became terribly difficult to go. We’re talking urgent feelings but just can’t go. Things still haven’t perfectly gotten back to normal down there to this day.

As a man happily sober since age 24, I really do not have a tolerance for not feeling good anymore. Meaning naturally, intrinsically good. For that reason, and with the aim of taking the most fortuitous path for all involved, I stop and offer my intention to my higher self before setting off to connect with others. Or before I do anything at all, really.

I knew the possibility existed on that day to address my sexual enhancement questions with this tea concoction, and I indeed offered the situation to my guidance. Satisfied that I had included the part of my self that sees beyond the immediate, I felt secure in the aftermath of the experience regardless of how terrible I felt. With levels of higher wisdom on the scene, I was deeply satisfied that there was something not only worth discovering but important that I do — although that particular herbal mixture was not the right balance of ingredients for a sensitive type like me.

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Hindsight being 20/20, however, there was the option of another path that had been quietly welling up from within me; a path more direct and free from bodily harm.

This inner nudging had been rising in and out of my awareness for a while. But any enhanced sexual experience without using substances would rely so much on my ability to be in the moment and connected, it was easy to write it off as an idealistic notion beyond my abilities. After all my unforeseen and undesirable experiences taking what looked to be the easy way out, honoring that inner nudge has now become the logical — and far more desired — choice.

There is something else, though, that spoke to my heart amid all this. It’s about being gratified by what is just naturally on offer every single day — for me, for you, for all of us. Lying there feeling so, so bad, I began to consider what is actually rather exhilarating about two people holding each other. Just holding, nothing else. Or how transcendent it can be to have fingertips running down your cheeks, arms, and legs as well as between them.

So if conditions, people, or even ideas are proving to be a little foggy this weekend, I’d say take some time to appreciate the simple things. Those ways of connecting that you know you can rely on. Those things that just feel good. No risks, no walks in the dark, just what’s there for you now. Right now.