A Sensual Education Is What We Need (III)

A foreword–

an undergoing of metamorphose will occur here. Be prepared to feel your body change form and function, if it lasts longer than 4 hours please phone your doc.

Let us hop like frog follies around and around around and around

and around

this sweet, fantastical, primary colored ditty:

Will you play with me? Will the plague of frogs set you free?

{an undergoing of metamorphose}

Now, seductively stretch your feline body in the sunlight. This applies to males as well, you too can be seductive as felines.

Arch your back and feel the release in your open hips,

open hips,

open hips (rest)

curl up and rock your furry form,

rock your furry form,

your furry form (rest)

feel your vertebrae press into the ground one by one,

one by one,

one by one (rest)

slide your torso upright, feel your buttocks merge into the ground and drop your head into your chest as it sways side to side,

merge, drop and sway,

merge, drop and sway (rest)

flex and point your toes,

flex and point your toes,

this lil piggy went to the market (rest)

this little piggy went home (rest)

perform pretend rigor mortis and elongate your every fiber and,

remember your suppleness, breath and life.

Lay on your back, whisper something sweet.

Dream of the moon.

{an undergoing of metamorphose}

Run your fingers through your fur, your thick and ferocious fur. As you encircle-circle-circle-circle the perfect resting spot on the edge of your cavernous den, sniff sniff sniff the scent of the blood-red triumphant hunt. Howl at the monochromatic opal hung in the cosmos.

Howl at the vastness. Howl at the minuteness. Howl at everything in between.

Come, St. Genevieve will lead us back to our days of elemental living, from whence abundance and scarcity, hunting and gathering, grunts and silences, animals and hides are depicted with holy veneration through wet clay and crude fingers.

Tell me something simple with your smooth hands that haven’t touched the earth in quite some time. Tell me something about the miniscule wonders of daily living. Tell me something.

{an undergoing of metamorphose}

Change is not easy nor pleasant. Change is very berry strange.

It is so hard to see where it is,
but it is there even in the morning
when the miracle of shapes
assemble and become familiar,
but not quite; and the echo
of a voice, now changed,
utterly dissociated, as though
all warmth and shared sweetness
had never been. It is this alien
space, not stark as the moon,
but lush and almost identical
to the space that was. But it is not.
It is another place and you are not
what you were but as though emerging
from the air, you slowly show yourself
as someone else, not ever remembered.

-Ruth Stone

{an undergoing of metamorphose}

Growing, rooting, or metamorphose is silent until it isn’t. One blink and a bud appears and the bud is silent for decades. Until another blink and bursting petals are vigorous before the sun. Be both the bud and its keeper.

Feel the emptiness of your growth as if all motion is almost caught in the stars above.

Feel the compulsion of your countless returns as your eyes are wide and searching, beady and squinting.

Hear your faint groans of craning towards the heavens and prodding towards the hell.

Hear nothing, except your imagination for you, keeper, are too clumsy and large and sweet to hear the itty-bitty sounds of growth.

Anything growing, rooting, or metamorphosing? Everything growing, rooting and metamorphosing.

We surrender. We surrender. We surrender. We surrender.

Both the bud and its keeper sprawled upon the earth, legs and roots deep inside her soil, head and bud reaching for her sky.

Reaching for her sky, waiting for her night. O’ how great and wonderous and terrifying this life can be!

Unto us, Unto us, Unto us.

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