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a word on wetness :


we are beginning to feel autumn bite at our fingertips. it nips at the tips of our ears and tickles the inside of our necks, not yet covered by scarves. 

i love autumn. i love this witch bitch, sad boygirl fall. i love when things get colder, leading us to gather warmth around fires, with loved ones, and in our hearts. 

my ancestors know something about how to keep and stay warm throughout the winter months. i am thinking of my slavic peoples, who braved beautiful and terrible winters for generations. 

there is one in me who is thinking about stocking, taking stock, and preparing for the colder months to come. 
i am in a new home. with a new view. i am next to green again, writing with green. is this home perfect? no, but what is. i am learning to let go of my deeply embedded perfectionism that white supremacy and colonialism has taught me. i do not need to be perfect. neither does anything around me . 

letting go of this is liberating, and also hard. it is a quiet return to myself day and day again, to find gentleness here. to calm the storms of self-hate that seem to wash over my being. it is a deliberate practice, and it is a disciplined one. 

from my view, i can see the lake. these beings are still new to me. i am still making my introductions. i am saying hello to the wet west, the lands that know rain and lightning. i am learning about wetness and how to relax into receiving pleasure here. 

i think about how proper sexuality education teaches you that even if you are wet, that DOES NOT equal consent. i think about how i got that so confused growing up. i subconsciously learned from a patriarchal society that if i was wet, that must mean that i want it. 

this is not true. 

looking back now, on the times when i was wet and not wanting it, and still receiving it anyway, i have compassion for myself. i have deep compassion for myself navigating these complex experiences. i am working on having compassion for others involved too. compassion for my abusers. there is still some anger, processing here, that is holy. that i walk with. anger and compassion can exist together. anything that tells me those things cannot exist together is not interested in my full liberation. 
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