To begin to describe another real human being, one would need to dive into the abyss, their abyss. It is so hard to find someone who may get who you are, even with the barest descriptors that can hardly reach the depth of the point. It is an almost unfathomable occurrence. When we do, it is so easy to compete, or misunderstand. Why is it so hard to hear and be heard? Is our ego as, or less, important as the comfort of being understood? Or is our need to be heard more important than our ego? What stands in the way of our ability to navigate the concept of what measure of risk of feeling the discomfort of vulnerabilty equals or outweights the potential reward of experiencing intimacy?

It might be, that those that raised us inadvertantly taught us some behaviours that are not conducive to productive relationships, be those intimate partners, or friendships or other relationships. It may well be that those that raised us inadvertantly provided us with some bad habits because we were vulnerable and impressionable children and our experiences coupled with the cultural expectations of our society became oddly mixed messages in our inner-most selves. It really, actually makes sense. As does knowing yourself as well as you can. Because being honest with your self, genuinely is the keystone to all relationships. Know thy self. Know, thy, self. We change, we outgrow ourselves faster than we have the chance to figure out who, we, are. And there is no other person on earth that you should know better. That is the ultimate failure in all relationships; not knowing oneself, yet expecting the other party to know who you are.

But how do we start an intimate conversation? Either with ourselves or others? I suggest we start with Arthur Aron’s list, lets use his list in an completely unintended way and answer the questions for ourselves… just for fun. I’ll go first:

  1. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?

Oh my, doesn’t this depend upon sooooo many things!? What music is playing? What I have I had to drink? Whose company am I in? What are the rules? Must they be living or are the dead ok? I will answer from the right here, right now…

I would invite Iesous, I could invite Persian or Eastern philosphers or later philosphers, but in all honesty I would like to speak directly to Iesous, better known as Yeshua or Jesus. I have a lot of questions for him. He seems to have genuinely existed as an historical person, he obviously exists as a person of the highest Christian regard. I’d like to ask him how he feels, comparatively, about being called a Judaic rebel and all manner of things under the post-crucifixion sun. Yes, I’d quite like to have a chat with the man himself.


Ear parcel I: Alone Together, Chet Baker

Ear parcel II: Little Talks – of Monsters and Men

Image ‘intimacy vol.2’ courtesy of dorry on deviantart





My body your canvas

Living words of ecstasy

Passion between souls

words errant satiety image courtesy of TattooTemple on deviantART

Articulacy of Fingers


Articulacy of fingers the language of the deaf and dumb, signing of the body. Body longing. Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights; the accumulations of a lifetime gather there. In places the palimpsest is so heavily worked that the letters feel like braille. I like to keep my body rolled up away from prying eyes. Never unfold too much, tell the whole story. I fear meeting someone with reading hands, in case they translate me into their own book.

In silence and in darkness we loved each other and as I traced his bones with my palm I wondered what time would do to skin that was so new to me. Could I ever feel less for this body? Why does ardour pass? Time that withers you will wither me. Will we fall like ripe fruit and roll down the grass together? Dear friend, let me lie beside you watching the clouds until the earth covers us and we are gone.


‘Written on the Body’ Jeanette Winterson – page 89-90

Image courtesy of Trung-Tiger on deviantART

What is love…

This strange emotion that takes us by the throat, that we would renege our familial history, our rationality, our all to surrender to emotion so strong it empties us of all other belief, or truth and in the process potentially deliver us to an ultimate truth. I wish with my entire self that this were true but I am yet to see love provide the ‘ultimate truth’ in this. I see strong passion full of honeyed word but no solid proof. Does this kind of love exist solely in the mind of those who write of it? Including myself. I know what I long for but does it exist? That is the ‘million dollar’, for want of a better term or question. It seems redolent of illusion of need outside of the self… the ache for the the anam cara, the part of you that mirrors the soul formed of the same clay, the part of you that mirrors the soul formed of the same clay, the one that knows you and understands you; the ‘whom’ that will understand yourself, all the better to honour… that beautiful ideal that may or may not exist. Do we dishonour/honour ourselves seeking an ideal, potential, beyond grasp? It is delicious, enticing but maybe beyond who we are now… I sincerely hope not but know we all ask this question, we all carry this deep seeded ideal. Therefore, let us honour fully those with us now. Embrace them with the passion you would wish given to yourself, grant them the honesty you ache for and deliver the response you dearly hope for. Honour the one you love, now. Perhaps they fall short, but ask yourself honestly do you meet them? Let us see where the fragments of our love comets fall before we readily set them aside. Remember, you chose them and they chose you… why?

Musical offering Wardruna ‘Solringen’

Letter to myself back when I was still married to Narcissis…

I wrote a lot during my ten-year relationship with a clinical Narcissist. I found this letter the other night and can see the clear mind I found when I drowned the noise in my head with music and found a still place where my honest voice could be heard.  There were three points in time when I came to a crisis point and left the relationship, I was almost always questioning. I returned twice until I finally disengaged myself entirely. This was written nearly 10 years ago to the day. It is a rant but possibly holds some glimmer of interest for those ‘seeking’ or may help others with similar concerns in their relationship. I wrote this after waking from a terrible nightmare and oddly enough it was after I did have a serious car accident that my inner voice won over my fear and I left the relationship for good (there are a couple of the songs I was listening too linked, it was a Pearl Jam evening.) Please remember this was in the past.


All that I love, all that I have lost, all that is lost, can be found here in the silence. In the quiet, in the beauty that is no sound. Music pulls suddenly, wrenches my heart to a place of intense truth. Tears that stream the night; my dream, the car full of people I see falling, falling so far so deep into the water, plunging silently into the depths, sinking with no fear, but there is no way out. No way to escape. It is just down, down into the cold quiet bottomless sea. Endlessly living out the same lie, avoid eye contact, avoid sharing our truth; it is safer you know (eye rolling sarcasm). They do not see me, they do not wave. Do they know what danger they are in? I want to scream. To scream!

My loneliness reminds me of the depth of my pain and isolation, of my inability to smile in the sunshine. Sorrow fills my heart and my eyes. Where do I turn to find the certainty? Is there ever any certainty? How is it that one moment can seem determined so sure, the next lost in the sea of infinite and harmful ‘what if’s’? How do we find ourselves in this world of change and growth? If nothing ever stays the same how can we remain whole? How do I find myself in this immense and endless ocean?

I must seek out the fearlessness; it is OK to make mistakes. We cannot get it right unless we try all avenues. We cannot live in fear and uncertainty! How can we live like that? That is where we find depression, anxiety, despair, and eventually madness. I want to make love face-to-face eyes wide open staring into the heart of my lover. Not cowering in the dark with tears on my cheeks while my lover fucks my body and my soul curls up into an ever-tighter darkness.

I seek absolute but I cannot find it. Absolute. Absolute. The word hammers in my ears a metronome, the pulse of my fearful heart. What does it mean to be human? Are we doomed to be alone and in isolation even within a room full of people all talking all smiling, it seems to me so devoid of life, so devoid of feeling. Is anyone really saying what they mean or is it a continuous competition to say the most remarkable, memorable thing?

 It all seems so pointless, so utterly without point.

With our backs to the wall where can we go? Where do we find safe arbor or safe passage even for the briefest of reprieves, seeking stillness? When we find these moments it seems too hard to carry them on through and into life. To adapt, in our seeking of origins and purest life, when we change on the inside, is it obvious to the outside, can we ourselves find sufficient language to explain it? I find it so hard, I just want to be free, to sing, to move, to create, to learn about our ways, to learn about our minds, to work with holism. Truth seeker, I want to be kind, don’t want to hurt anyone. But I want to be free. I can’t stand the boxes anymore. I want to open my heart wide, let it soar, breathe and live!


Yet there is love such sweet deep love. In a body which smells and tastes so rich and deep, a mind textured and layered with so many complex and intriguing insights. If only I could maintain my sense of connection all the time and not lose sight of what and who I am and what does not need to touch me. It does not need to touch me. Slow it down. See his words for what they are, don’t let them confuse and disorientate. I want the children to remain together. I know I will lose my step-son if I leave, can I remain strong enough for him, my son and myself? How I want equality, I want to understand and be understood. Walking together not apart or behind….walking together not apart or behind….

I want to be heard and loved, I crave sensualness, love and beauty. He says ‘love is not enough’ but for me it is the only thing of importance.

Within these weary times, is this the time to say goodbye, yet when he asks I am terrified, (is it a trick, a trap for me to fall into?) a huge gaping hole appears before me I see us alone and all the hard work being worth nothing. Yet to remain, to constantly monitor my every thought before speaking, walking on eggshells to avoid his anger and grief, the oppression of his selfishness. This is no way to live. A friend observed that he watches me all the time, that this kind of controlling love is suffocating and too heavy to bear, that he cannot open his heart to me because he cannot see beyond himself. She is right.

I am surrendering to the quiet. I need quiet and healing. I cannot continue without it being this way. I simply ache for stillness.

Time to hear the silence and reclaim myself.


Let it wash over me.


I adore the power of sound to create poignancy. That through sound we can find stillness. Music creates a trance state, the stillness within the music, stillness within the dancing. I love how in this place thoughts are born. Little seeds eager to grow, bursting with life and direction. Lushness is an elixir shaping things into intense and shattering beauty.

I just want to burst forth into life. To feel strong again, content, creative, intelligent, to have ideas that can come to fruition.

Is my heart open? Or is it just safer to remain in the shadows for fear of hurt. Terror surrounds me. I get so anxious when I think of full potential and the ability to really truly love. I cannot open my heart; I am in fear of him, his ability to inflict pain makes me question his ability to express empathy, to love anyone other than himself. I am in terror and I need love, absolute beauty and love to entice me out. I need to be worshiped and honoured before I can allow myself to open and offer my absolute. I do not feel safe here. I can pretend all I like but that does not change a single thing. It makes me less open and more distant from my truth and my life. I do not serve him or myself through this pretense. What is the next move? Endlessly confirming how I feel in writing does not tell him a thing. Withdrawing more describes separation. I am so afraid. I walked to the edge, he asked me to come back so I have, but I am aching for the edge, I only returned out of fear, fear of him.

 words by errant satiety

(postscript, I feel the need to mention to clearly state that this was not a D/s relationship, there was no open communication about control. If there had been the scenario might have been different. The reality of this particular relationship was unhealthy control, not given or mutually agreed upon.)



If I gift you with the depth of my eyes will you honour them? Treat the soul found nestled within with respect even if ‘we’ end? Whispered promises, in stillness beyond the enamoured coiling of our physical selves, whispered promises after we have writhed in ecstatic friction as if to break apart and merge within the other; whispered promises easily forgotten in parting and in loss. Will you cherish me even in ending that our secret selves remain forever a treasure between us not a weapon to maim? How do we allow the passing of the true self, unbidden by falseness or fear? Will you hold an image filled with the memory of the beauty of us, of me standing bearing my naked soul for you only, within your mind to evaluate and whisper our promises before uttering aloud the words that might tear me asunder? Can I do the same with the tender gift of your self?

words by errant satiety