I may be crazy but...

I've signed up to write the better part of a book at a coffee shop. You can follow my terse blog entries about the process at
http://www.coffeeshopauthor.com/blogs/monmen

And now, for my spiritual side...

Just back from brief vacation. The Slocan Valley gave me an organic-green-bean welcome. A cherry-picking initiation engaged with teeth. Sweat-infused, patchouli-and-herb inhalations. Drum-circle epicentre of ecstatic energy, drawing me into Divine Dance. Such energy surged from the drums as to require a step backward, a circling 'round, an exhalation. I exhaled in order to make room, to take it in. Nothing to safely do with such spirals but dance dance dance beneath that fully-stoked yet dying star called Sun.

Years ago, I wouldn't have felt the energetic pulse emanating from the drummers' combined intention. This ability to detect Divine energy as physical sensation is an enormous gift received from the many Illuminated Souls who willingly shared with me over the last two decades. Sometimes we think this comes from the "masters" only. But I believe that each of us is an Illuminated Soul. The difference lies only in manifestation. How much of the time are we manifesting that identity? Those we call ascended are there all of the time. And perhaps also beyond corporeality...though my ample scepticism says "impossible".

Random Musings

1. "If you can't Dodger, Rammer. If you can't Rammer, Dodger."
~ stencil on the back window of a half-ton truck that gunned past me on the TransCanada near Lac des Arcs this morning

This belongs in the category of "Things that make me feel lucky to be queer". Do women actually have sex with men who drive around with that kind of slogan on their vehicle? Anyone?

2. My girl called me a byke this weekend. (At first, I thought she was calling me a bike. As in, the town bike. But she didn't know that joke.) I hereby claim this the epithet for bisexual women everywhere! Isn't it great? Anyone?

3. A happy homo flirted with me. (Again.) He rubbed his beautiful buns on my thigh.
"They said you liked my ass," he yelled over the music.
"I do. Careful; I squeeze," I warned.
"Go for it."
When I did, he said, "So, you're not gay then?"
"I'm bi."
He said something incomprehensible that was meant to be PC. It started with "I support..." but ended with him nearly recoiling and ignoring me for the rest of the night, so he might as well have said nothing. Needle scratching across vinyl record. Short-circuit. Turntable spinning silently. Connection terminated. What is it with lovely fags throwing themselves at women? And then having an issue with bisexuality? Anyone?

4. Why does rope look so fetching wrapped around an erection? Anyone?

5. IKEA has an arrow painted on the floor. People flow through the showrooms at exactly the same pace like a river of obedient little consumer-sheep. It bugs me. I crossed the current to the other side. I backtracked from candles to linens. I slowed down, I sped up. Was that annoying of me? Anyone?

Toward a definition

Sometimes people ask me what defines a bisexual. American activist & writer Robyn Ochs has this to say: "I call myself bisexual because I acknowledge that I have the potential to be attracted -- romantically and physically -- to people of more than one sex and/or gender, not necessarily at the same time, not necessarily in the same way, and not necessarily to the same degree." Robyn married her long-term partner, Peg.

Happy Nude Year

Crank up the heat in your place. Go on. Just an hour or so of warmth. It won't cost much. Then take off your clothes and cavort. That part is free. In fact, if you did that every time you read this blog, I wonder whether you'd like my writing better?

Whether you've found this via Facebook or some other pathway, welcome.