Tag: this is freedom

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tantric transformation…

A mature person has the integrity to be alone. And when a mature person gives love, he gives without any strings attached to it: he simply gives. And when a mature person gives love, he feels grateful that you have accepted his love, not vice versa. He does not expect you to be thankful for it – no, not at all, he does not even need your thanks. He thanks you for accepting his love.

And when two mature persons are in love, one of the greatest paradoxes of life happens, one of the most beautiful phenomena: they are together and yet tremendously alone; they are together so much so that they are almost one. But their oneness does not destroy their individuality, in fact, it enhances it: they become more individual.

Two mature persons in love help each other to become more free. There is no politics involved, no diplomacy, no effort to dominate. How can you dominate the person you love? Just think over it. Domination is a sort of hatred, anger, enmity. How can you think of dominating a person you love? You would love to see the person totally free, independent; you will give him more individuality.

That’s why I call it the greatest paradox: they are together so much so that they are almost one, but still in that oneness they are individuals. Their individualities are not effaced – they have become more enhanced. The other has enriched them as far as their freedom is concerned.

Immature people falling in love destroy each others’ freedom, create a bondage, make a prison. Mature persons in love help each other to be free; they help each other to destroy all sorts of bondages. And when love flows with freedom there is beauty. When love flows with dependence there is ugliness.

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Rising in love means a learning, a changing, a maturity. Rising in love ultimately helps you to become grown-up. And two grown-up persons don’t quarrel; they try to understand, they try to solve any problem. Anybody who rises in love never falls from it, because rising is your effort, and the love that is grown through your effort is within your hands. But falling in love is not your effort.”

—Osho—

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even in silence…

It’s a complicated thing, wanting you. Loving you in this way. Inviting you to accept my desire and pleasure and need as equal to yours… as equally tempting, sexy, beautiful, and powerful. “Is this alright?” No. Stop. There is no doubt: you are my lover, the one I can’t get enough of. The one whose smile makes my pussy swell. The one I want touching me, tasting me, licking and suckling me, testing and tempting me… fucking me into oblivion.
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Your cum begins just as mine peaks. Our lips meld, shaped wide in the mirrored “O” of our orgasm. Your cries vibrate along my jaw and the force of your final release makes me weep. This is all you needed—for me to lose myself like this in your arms. Your cock fills then pulses and pulses and pulses as I squirt all over you. My mess is merciless. My fingers dig into your strong body as I push into you—begging you to pulse inside me one more time. Our foreheads together, we kiss… breathy, slow, sensuously.

I wrap my tongue around yours and you briefly suck on my upper lip before gently pulling tendrils of hair off my face. The power of your tenderness—before and now—inspires yet another moan from me. Your hand cups my face so you can look at me. My eyes are bright as I return your gaze. Your knees buckle in this weird slow motion way when you see how true I see you. When you see where our secrets took us—what permission they unlocked. When you see how much I loved being with you just now. When I let you take your time drinking my disheveled body in… gleaming with our sweat and cum.

You gently kiss me in all the places you missed before; you smooch and nuzzle against me until my breath settles. My hand leisurely traces your hair, your ears, and jaw, your shoulder and limbs and lips. When you rest your head on my hip and wrap your arms around me suddenly and squeeze, I’m surprised to see how much you’ve given me of yourself.  My smile: my trust. You know then, without asking, that I want to do this again with you… in all the different ways we can think of and those we can only feel. I want to taste your freedom again when it’s like this—naked.

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destined to be the sun…

There is a time for being ahead,
a time for being behind;
a time for being in motion,
a time for being at rest;
a time for being vigorous,
a time for being exhausted;
a time for being safe,
a time for being in danger.

 

— Lao Tzu —

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good bones…

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.

— Maggie Smith —

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the couple in the park…

A man walks alone in the park and beside him a woman walks, also alone. How does one know? It is as though a line exists between them, like a line on a playing field. And yet, in a photograph they might appear a married couple, weary of each other and of the many winters they have endured together. At another time, they might be strangers about to meet by accident. She drops her book; stooping to pick it up, she touches, by accident, his hand and her heart springs open like a child’s music box. And out of the box comes a little ballerina made of wood. I have created this, the man thinks; though she can only whirl in place, still she is a dancer of some kind, not simply a block of wood. This must explain the puzzling music coming from the trees.

the couple in the park
— Louise Glück —

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