I Choose Love.

There are always ideas circling through my mind as I prepare to write this weekly blog for you, my readers.  However, I think the most essential idea pressing on me to write is that of the most important necessity for all living creatures.  That of, the four letter L-word, Love.   How fitting that I would write such an entry on the day of love itself, Valentine's Day, the day when Cupid's arrow finds his match, candy hearts are shared, middle school dances become the dream of all romantic 12 year olds with hopeful wishes in their newly hormone-ridden bodies that their crush will finally ask them out. 

So, love.  It is a word seemingly undefinable but purely and completely felt when it arrives.  Yet, love is never far from us, always present, whether we choose to be aware of it at all. 

See, that's the thing.  In a world increasingly falling apart with racism, pollution, the big guy over-powering the little guy, the only real solution is sometimes the last place we often look.  If we are truly to be honest with ourselves, we have to admit that all to often our go-to reaction is to become defensive and retaliate with like-minded slings of abusive arrows in response to those cast at us.  Do we realize that in situations like this there are at least two choices available to us, either to lash out or to love out?

Now, I am in no way suggesting that we allow ourselves to continuously be in the pathway of complete abuse and manipulation.  Coming from a past flooded with a myriad of abusive forms, I highly advocate for escaping and leaving the torturous life-style behind.  All humans have a capacity for emotional changes, from happy feelings of warmth and love, sad feelings, and then those of erupting anger.  Those momentary feeling states do not reflect an overall abusive pattern necessarily.  Being in an abusive relationship, as I know from experience, the anger is an ever-present silent force ready to explode and erupt, nullify and control its victim, at any notice.  This anger can take many forms, that of slews of verbal angry words, the cold silent treatment meant to punish the victim for no such cause, manipulation meant to control and dominate, or even worse, physical abuse.  All leave their own forms of bruises, some visible and others invisible, yet all leave the emotional markings that although freed from the abuser leaves the victim forever scarred.

But, I am not talking about abuse.  I am talking about the moment by moment life occurrences where we are always faced with the opportunity to choose love or to choose hate.  Becoming defensive and retaliating in like fashion is a choice.  Stopping, pulling away, choosing love over hate, is in a sense a moment where we truly stand for ourselves, fully present in mindful awareness. 

And, love is multi-faceted, a woven tapestry of many a color.  In CS Lewis's book, Four Loves, Lewis describes four aspects of love, Agape (Divine Love), Storge (empathy bond), Phileo (Brotherly/friend love), and Eros (Romantic love).  In that, there are many phases one goes through in each of these relational aspects of love.  For infatuation, the early stages of falling for someone, full of its passionate excitement and exhilaration is just as much love as a long-term committed relationship, just as letting go of a lover or a friend, for a variety of reasons, is an aspect of love.  Its all love if done from a pure and honest place.

Just over a week ago, my beautiful Grandma Margaret passed onwards from this world, hopefully to the heaven of which she always professed to believe.  True to fashion, I've been attempting to be still, listen, for guidance from her spirit.  I truly believe that I am surrounded by a cloud of witnesses, spirit guides that have chosen to lead me, give me wise answers and teachings as I journey through life.  These guides I truly believe to be that of my favorite high school teacher, Fernando Nugent, Gilda Radner, Harry Anderson, Evita Peron, Frida Kahlo, Mary Tamm, my Grandpa Walt, and now his wife, my Grandma Margaret.  Along the way, I still feel a kinship to others that have passed on, such as my grandparents on my father's side, but there are certain individuals who have truly joined alongside of me as personal friends across the veil of eternity.

So, what is the message I am receiving from Grandma? Simply this: Always, always choose love. 

So, when I am faced with the darkness of the depravity of an angry, lonely soul and my empath self seeks to flee into the safety of my own protective realm, I choose love, making the active choice to not engage with the negative but embrace the positive, those that are choosing love themselves.  When I am faced with the daily setbacks of life, the financial strain, the driver that cuts me off, not getting called back on an audition...I choose to acquaint myself with love.  I choose to dwell in the state of mind that 'We all have not figured it out quite yet', as Alanis Morrisette croons.  Knowing that we are not all perfect, helps to give perspective in a world vanishing amidst the confusion of too much, too fast, and not enough relational focus on unity and love. 

If we truly want to be the change that infects the world for the better, we need to actively choose to seek out the positive, to choose love and in a sense, be love.

Yes, Grandma, I hear you.  I choose love.

Satisfied

Would You Whack It?

Vagina Diaries Day Twenty-Two

My boyfriend and I were flipping through RoKu and an advertisement popped up for a TV show called "Bush-Whacked".  I immediately made a joke in reference to President Bush and, well, hopefully you get the gist of it, in case there are secret Government agencies watching my Internet activity.  My boyfriend, however, made a pun referencing to whacking "the bush" as in the pubic region, asking me if I would.  I reminded him not only of the monologue I am working on but my ever-increasing belief that hair is there for a reason.  Whereas I don't see hair in the "down-there" part of the body as cluttered and dirty, I do think grooming and keeping it neatly trimmed is necessary.  For example, I do not desire the 1970's bush but nor do I want the modern day 'porn-star' look.  Ouch!

But, to each is own and every woman has the right to choose how she'd like her vagina to look.  See: Designer Vaginas, the New York Runway look of Fall 2015.  So, my question is to you readers,
How do you want your pussy? Trimmed? Bushy? Hairless?

I hope the above picture, plus my entries over the last few months, do not sway your opinion.  So, please answer honestly in the space below, whether or not you want to say "why" is up to you.  I'm just curious, plus am hopeful this entry, as well as the ones previous, have got you thinking more about how to love yourself and your beloved 'V'.  

Southern Oregon University's production of "Vagina Monologues" opens March 5th

Help Jackie Design Her Vagina!

Shhh, Acceptance is a Dirty Word!!!

Vagina Diaries Day Twenty

In today's devotional of "One Day My Soul Just Opened Up," the focus was on acceptance, a word I felt that I have some degree of mastery over, until on second thought I realized differently.

I realized that I need to accept the way life is, the way some people treat others as bullies, or what have you, and that it is not my place, regardless of what I would like to do, to try to bring vengeance on these individuals.  However, this seems easy to accept when compared to something of deeper significance.

That of my own personal past with abuse and bullies.

Whenever anyone refers to me as my "former name", my insides cringe with the memory of that girl, something that these friends do not truly understand because they did not live inside of me.  They do not know that "girl" they knew was the child-like creature who was perpetually seen as helpless and unable to understand herself and make decisions for herself and who because of this was verbally and emotionally, sometimes physically, abused her entire life.  It is for that reason I cringe inside when I hear that name.  But, it is for the girl they saw, the real me, that I need to heal from those wounds completely.  So, I must accept that part of my life, that part of my self.

For that girl that I used to know, who never really got to live, was and is me.  I could not have become who I am today, strong, independent, determined, self-loving and self nurturing of my whole being, vagina and all, if not for my past, both good and bad.  For in all actuality, there was good if these dear old friends of mine can be found truthful.

For when it comes down to it, the "Julia" they knew is not the "Julia" I knew, but they really saw the "Lia" before I allowed her to be set free.  In that way, I honor their presence in my life and my journey towards self-discovery, their love is helping heal the old scars of abuse and their support and acknowledgment of who I am today is the realization that "Lia" was always real to them, even before I allowed her to be.

So, "Acceptance" is a very dirty word, when it comes down to it, when you really allow it to sink into your entire being and readily admit you have to accept all parts of yourself and humanity, in all its beauty and ugliness.

But, once completed, oh how much more peaceful and joyful is life discovered!

Click here!

Wasn't I just talking about this?

Vagina Diaries Day Eighteen

Well, maybe it was a couple days ago, but wasn't I discussing the value and importance of the wonderful pubic hair, as un-glamorous as it may appear yet actually a vital part of the health of the victorious vagina?

Someone posted this on facebook and I thought it rather amusing, not only because of the synchronicity of this study, but also because I find it hard to believe that such a bushy pube was ever the fashion.  As of today, the allure is that of the hairless variety, mainly in the realm of the porn star or those who aspire to be.  Although I do know a few girls who keep themselves hair-less, for the sole purpose of health-related issues, (in-grown hairs being the root cause, yes, pun intended!)  But I speak for most women and men, when I say the completely hairless pussy is the least desirable for a plethora of reasons while the neatly trimmed look strongly outweighs the "bush" of the seventies.

One reason being, the chafing that comes about not just when wearing clothes but also when "fooling around".  Plus, in general the lack of protection to the "down-there" region when it comes down to it, as my character's monologue in the Vagina Monologues describes in her story of miserable plight.

As she says, hair is the "leaf around the flower", there for protection.  Moreover, you cannot love the vagina if you don't love hair.

What, dear reader, do you think? To hair or not to hair?

(I will admit the vajeweled look seems rather appealing, if it can be proved cost-effective.)

Aside note, if you haven't donated yet, here's your chance to help Jackie find out the glories or lack thereof of hair on her brand-stinking new vag of her own.  Click the link below!

Help Jackie Get Her Vag!

Just take a look...

Vagina Diaries Day 7

What do you see when you look at me?

Last spring, I ventured down to the thriving metropolis of Eureka, CA with my lovely boyfriend to visit friends.  While there, we went skinny-dipping and nude sunbathing along the infamous Eel River (well, infamous of my youth anyway).  We are a very open bunch, including myself, my boyfriend of 56 years, his good buddy and the buddy's new girl.

While strolling the sandy and rocky beach and attempting to envelope my body in the icy-cold water while shrieking my mezzo soprano voice in response, I found it easier to look at the male packages, ie their private parts which are none to private when nude, hanging as they do loosely from their bodies, rather than look at the parts of my female counterpart.  To the horror of my friends of the lesbian persuasion, I actually find the penis more attractive than the vagina.  For shame, for shame!

At one point, I was sitting on the beach directly in front of the girl who was sunbathing behind me and turning around I happened to catch a glimpse of her nether region.  I immediately looked away, in shame and shock.  This was her private place, a secret part of her, and somewhere you just don't go.  Looking back, it struck me how my view of the moist cavity between the legs is such a region of not only secrecy but shame and fear.

So, last night, when nude modeling (see my day jobs include the variety of nude modeling to substitute teaching, heck its random but I make my own schedule), I laid back with my legs opened slightly, realizing that the artists' could get a pretty wide viewpoint.  This was a shocking thought to me but one of immense freedom.

Look at me, I was saying loudly without words.  Take a look.

It helped bring about healing and awareness of self.  A sense that this part of me was not some forbidden zone but something to be enjoyed and expressed freely and with delicious pleasure.

So, take a look.  Don't be afraid.

What do you see when you look at me?