Today I got up and knew what I was going to do, and that felt good. I had a job planting some containers. I got to pick out flowers that I didn’t have to pay for with my own money. I got to tear through roots and potting soil – and carefully place earth worms and slugs away from my area of disruption. It was wonderful. Then I started thinking about sex.
Follow me now. I am not talking about running a XXX theater in my head. I am talking about how gardens are nothing if not full blown sex-a-terias. Roots weave around each other. Some blossoms ache for bees while others say, “Forget it, buzzers. I can handle this myself.” Next time you walk in a garden, you’re going to think about sex too. How can you not? Heavens…watch a hummingbird and try not to think about sex. Then something happened…my ego found me. The nasty little fear voice. It said, “Christine. Christine. You’re thinking about sex. Stop. You shouldn’t think about sex so much. Then, you know what happened, I started thinking about sex again. I started thinking about sex of all sorts and with various plants and people, but this time the background music was me telling me not to think about sex. You’re married. You’re not a sex addict. Gee, you might get more done if you were thinking about something else. What are you trying to manifest here? Yeah, like you’d really do it that way if you had the chance. The fear me was killing my fun.
When this happens, I start the analyzing, and this is what I have come up with. We’ve been taught not to think about sex. We’ve been taught not to think of ourselves as sexual. Sex is an earthly lust and our aspirations could and should be so much higher. But, thinking about sex is thinking about feeling sexual energy. To deny it, denies the sexual energy in ourselves. It cuts off an arm because of an ugly bracelet. It ain’t wise to store up too much sexual energy, because it will start coming out in the wrong ways. Ever seen someone try and get the first dilly bastard out of a jar of pickles? The cussing starts. Jesus, I just need one effing pickle to go with my slider. Mother futher son of a –. Still, keep a little bit with you at all times, like the change you keep in your purse for parking. It might come in handy in the garden.
A LITTLE SPIRIT JUNKIE FIX. HER AND HER HAIR ARE WINNING ME OVER.