Oh, the blissful inebriation and the bane of pure abandon. Tingling and treachery lie within thee. What throes of a language which gives forth abandon with abandonment! I have an unquenchable fascination with words whose meaning carries both good and bad connotations. In general, I’m such a lover of words that a man wishing sincere attention from my soul ought to dig deeply within the wells of literary offerings, foreign languages, and his own imaginative writings alike. Words are a version of the glue that binds my heart to a bearer of their nectar. I shall never grow tired of listening to or reading choice words.
In a world full of people I find myself immeasurably seeking to master solitude. Along my personal path, I placed myself a bit more solo these last years. It is with extremely direct consciousness to focus on why I am, who I am, and what that person wants from herself and with others. In terms of people, the practice has sorted away more than it has brought in. I am especially careful about men because I honor them on a more profound level than I ever knew in my first thirty-five years. My discernment has ripened my choices relating to abandon. The effect is my aim to irradicate the prior abandonment I recklessly caused myself emotionally, psychologically, and physically. The wake of grappling pits a beauty of philosophy I’ve long appreciated for its depths. How do I remain my own best muse, inducing amorous abandon, without facing the withdrawal of abandonment?
The swirling of the clouds above me mimics my mind. The more I sit in peace and quiet the greater the swell of frisky tones beckoning my attention. I’ve raged against the dying of the light. It can come up dark and stormy as the front literally moving in. Yet, there are risks all around us. My exploration for the truth of my reckoning with abandon and abandonment intensely confronts such liability. On the one hand, I am an open book of bodily delights. I am gifted with a beautiful sense of self and all my parts. In particular, I’m called to help others free their apprehensions. A darling favorite is a connection to the feminine ‘yoni’ (vagina). The more I uncover about myself in my passing years, the more I resolve to hold it sacred for a special man, compared to the days I shared myself a bit too willingly. I was ever in search of Mr. Right, but all too often finding quite a few Mr. Right Now’s readily waiting in line. Through all these men taught me important lessons.
Abandonment has taught me the borrowed time of renting your soul for the sake of others enthusiasm in lieu of your own. I believe we cannot fully grow until we face the serpents of abandonment. I’ve given up on my health, wealth, achievements, desires, and even my seemingly never-ending positivity during the susceptibility of industrious dejected thinking. Abandonment on me has stretched to more than 205 pounds (on a 5-foot 4-inch frame that isn’t so pretty). There are the youthful times that abandoning myself landed me too many nights in blackout drunk hazes of hours gone by without any recollection (ever!) of telltale fallacies with boys and then guys who lacked the skills to treat a young woman well enough. Abandonment caught me off guard when formulating my entertainment career by supporting celebrities who were not always reciprocally supportive towards me. Undeniably, abandonment showed me the bare flooring of a downtrodden hopelessness. Through every despicable moment of self-abandon in the insane sense, or seeing the same in the lives of the ‘developing/growing’ others, I hung my hat away from outcast to join the fiery phoenix club instead.
Abandon has brought to my life breathtaking scenery, succulent cakes, ambrosial intimacy, addictive intellect, climatic altitudes of wisdom, and heart-throbbing honesty. I’ve journeyed in a stunning sari to Indian isle shores adorned with striking henna and sparkly bangles. I’ve tasted mouthwatering edible delicacies and men alike. I continue to propagate raising the bar for how much my mind may intake to formulate new horizons through new teachers in both standard and stranger forms. With each breath and holding of my breath when swimming underwater or riding the taller rollercoaster to the top, I solidify the reaches of my integrity. With unsullied purification, I sit agape enticing a man, my future, my purpose. May he rise to a calling such as those of Operation Underground Railroad. May he be rich in talents alongside the likes of my dear friends with Angel City Chorale, recently sweeping America’s Got Talent. May he be willing to Tony Robbins Firewalk with me! And may he kiss… oh, please, may he wish to kiss me over and again with tenderness, openness, sweetness, deepness, lavishness, and increasing abandon!
I consider a life lucky primarily based on the levels of freedom and joy. I scrutinize my pursuit in wanting to provide these sanctities to all humans with whom I’m able to share such life-altering support. On this Friday the thirteenth, I find it fitting that our historical cultures divide the luck of this day as evenly as I bring abandon versus abandonment to your attention. On the one hand, Friday is known for being a day of luck for love, fertility, and marriage, in the least. While adding the ominous number ‘thirteen’ chucks it suddenly into a forlorn day for bad luck. Poor number ‘thirteen’ likely never set about trying to win such abject acclaim, yet history wracks up a penance for ole ‘thirteen’. I’d like to fondly counter that ‘thirteen’ — 1 + 3 — equals to four numerologically, which happens to be my life path number (as I’m prone to ponder), and quite a stimulating destiny accordance of all this abandon meets abandonment combined!
Ironies are a spice of life. May you wield your wondrous ways through a heaping reward of abandon and discard all that encumbering abandonment.