The Earth Collides with the Moon ... and I Think of Sex

Flipping through the March 2013 issue of Astronomy, we find an interview with Professor Sarah T. Stewart of Harvard who would, I am quite certain, be none too pleased to find herself in a magickal blog between fallen angels and incubi. But – oh well, tra-la-la, she’ll have to get over it. The details originally appeared in Science.

Along with SETI scientist Matija Ćuk, Professor Stewart has proposed a solution to the disputed notion that in Earth’s earliest formative period, she was part of a monumental collision, sending ejected material out into space – which eventually coalesced into the body we know as the moon.

If we temporarily set aside the mythology and only look at the science, some of the data raised by scientists in support of the collision theory include

(1) the volume of water on the planet – they believe the volume better matched a planetary body further away from the sun, which would be explained if a huge collision moved Earth closer to the sun that it had been originally. Another clincher:

(2) the earth and the moon contain identical isotopes.

As for the original story of the collision – I do remember the mythology: Earth and a planet called Tiamat (others say Theia) collided in a gigantic explosion, returning the earth to its molten state and sending a big chunk of itself rolling and spinning out into space, where it became the moon.

But how did the Sumerians know this? Not sure … I want to say that Zecharia Sitchin credited the inhabitants of the supposed Planet X itself – called the Annunaki - with passing the info along, but don’t quote me on that, either.

I may have had lot of respect for the Sumerians, but did I believe Zecharia Sitchin’s Planet X/ Nibiru/ Annunaki story?? No, I did not – or at least, not the “we’re all gonna die!” version of it you see all over the internet. Mainly because of the fact that if Sitchin were correct, we would have seen the planet approaching, coming in out of its 3,600 year-long orbit a long, long time ago. I mean, really, some of these conspiracy theorists are too silly – they seem to believe that a gigantic planet would appear in the skies out of nowhere, and only start causing havoc all over the place when it got within a few miles of Earth. Ain’t gonna happen that way. Hasn’t anyone read the reviews of the movie Melancholia? Every scientist on the planet – not to mention a lot of laypeople as well - made fun of the (complete absence of) astrophysics behind it.

There are telescopes on satellites from every civilized country out there in immediate orbit around Earth – even if the U.S. government decided to keep it a big secret, you don’t think other countries would go along with us, do you? Ha! Trust me, we’re not THAT well liked.

Besides, trying to keep it a secret would be futile anyway: NASA is correct – it would be visible to the naked eye while still a huge distance away, and would be the brightest object in the night sky – again, while still a long, long way away. It could not “hide behind the sun” – given our own orbit, we would have seen it a long time ago. Things that big don’t just “show up” out of nowhere. Nobody could have kept it a secret.

But if you’re interested in the original article on the theory of the moon being spun off from earth following a collision:
Ćuk, M., S. T. Stewart. Making the Moon from a fast-spinning Earth: A giant impact followed by
resonant despinning. Science, 338 (6110), 1047-1052, doi:10.1126/science.1225542, 2012.

And now … ahhh, the joy of returning to the topic of sex.

“GOOD LORD! IS THAT ALL YOU CAN THINK ABOUT??” you shriek.

“Why, yes. Yes it is,” I reply calmly. “That’s all I EVER think about. Morning, noon, night. Always. Sex, sex and more sex.  It’s constant. It’s relentless. It never ends. It’s the exclusive focus of my entire existence. A perpetual Dionysian drool-fest, born of desperation and wanton craving. I’m completely overwhelmed with white hot passion, twenty-four hours a day. I hunger with desire, from sunrise to sunset; I am submersed in raw, untrammeled, raging lust!!”

[PAUSE]

Okay, not really. But why do you even CARE?

Ahem. As I was saying … ahhh, the joy of returning to the topic of sex.

So I was reading the The Plant Spirit Familiar, by Christopher Penczak. Not the first book you would open, were you to be researching incubi, and in fact, I wanted to read about people who could hear plants, trees, flowers, etc. Last time I brought up this topic, I was the only one who could hear trees scream, because, thanks to christians, I had to endure that misery almost every year.

“Oh, PISH-POSH!” snaps the know-it all from Yale. “How could they scream? They don’t have vocal cords!”

(*SLAP!!!!*) (Heh, heh. I always wanted to do that, just slap a pretentious Yalie upside the head, for the fun of it. Don’t worry, Harvard, you’re next).

“The ‘scream’ is my interpretation of what I feel when I’m near a christian christmas tree lot, Yalie boy,” sayeth I in annoyance. “Pressure. Frantic pressure. The urge to run, to escape. Panic. To cover my ears or to cry. Physical pain. It’s horrible; a horrible sensation. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. It’s the christians who aren’t emotionally or mentally – or spiritually - evolved enough to be aware of the damage, destruction and death they cause to other living beings. And then they dress the corpse up like a Las Vegas showgirl and prop the dead body up in their living rooms. It’s horrifying. How can those evil christians not HEAR what they’ve done? When I was a child, I’d actually throw up.”

But I digress.

All of a sudden I flip open the book, see a chapter on “Sexual Congress with the Green”, and I’m reading about incubi. I’m sure your first thought (as was mine, I’m ashamed to say, so I can’t really pick on you) is, “He’s having sex with PLANTS?!?” No, he is not, so you can stop trying to imagine the logistics and visualizing yourself covered in grass stains with thorn scratches in peculiar places on your body – unless you enjoy that sort of thing. (And not that there’s anything wrong with that!) What he IS talking about are spirits associated with various trees and plants.

Before that, however, he devoted a paragraph to the history of the incubi/succubae. Made me smile.

“Modern psychologists speculate that the mythos of the succubae/incubi stemmed from religious guilt over erotic dreams and men’s nocturnal emissions, and provided an explanation for both sleep paralysis and pregnancy out of wedlock. The concept of something evil seducing one into the pleasure not normally allowed to them by those who felt it was wrong to experience and enjoy such things, provided them with the opportunity to have the experience but ultimately take no responsibility for it, though such confessions usually led to other problems, such as clergy believing such people were bewitched. Some even speculate that the mythos acted as a coping mechanism to help people deal with issues of rape and sexual abuse, particularly when the clergy themselves were the perpetrators. Devout parishioners couldn’t face that fact, so the myth of sexual demons was created.”
Penczak, Christopher. The Plant Spirit Familiar: Green Totems, Teachers and Healers on the Path of the Witch. Copper Cauldron Publishing. 2011. Page 262.

THANK YOU!!!!

Although actually, I tend to think that last speculation on clergy being the perpetrators came from the historical record I published here earlier of a nun’s complaint against a priest and his response that an incubi who looked like him had done the deed, not him. (And the convent believed his version of the story over the nun’s “That letch humped me like a dog!” version. Oh, what else is new?)

What Penczak does point out – and I now want more information on this:

“If you go into surviving tribal shamanic traditions, you will find the concept of the shaman’s spirit lover, or spirit wife, as a primary inner world tutelary spirit and initiator. You will find a similar concept in the Celtic faery traditions of a Faery Lover, Faery Bride and every Faery Queen/King mating,”

and …

“Sexual union of this nature, i.e. the transmission of such energy between incarnate and discarnate entities, was both initiatory and sacramental, benefitting both entities in their spiritual evolution and development. Only in a dark age, where such knowledge is lost, would potentially holy contact with the spirit world be interpreted as demonic.”

THANK YOU!!

I hadn’t thought of these days as “The Dark Ages”, but from our perspective they really are, aren’t they? Those westerners whose beliefs pre-dated or stood outside of monotheism really were made to suffer for a long, long time. Only now are we regaining any space for our own beliefs, and grudgingly at that. In the news as I write this are the stories of Fox News jumping up and down and squealing hysterically over a decision made by the University of Missouri:

Students at University of Missouri don't need to cram for exams that fall on Wiccan and Pagan holidays, now that the school has put them on par with Christmas, Thanksgiving and Hanukah.

The university’s latest “Guide to Religions: Major Holidays and Suggested Accommodations” — designed to help faculty know when and when not to schedule exams and other student activities — lists eight Wiccan and Pagan holidays and events right alongside more mainstream occasions. It's all part of the school's effort to include everyone's beliefs, although some critics say listing every holiday associated with fringe belief systems is a bit much.*

(*And by “some critics”, Fox News meant, of course, Fox News, “the official mouthpiece of the lower intellectual echelons of christian fundamentalism”).

Penczak also wrote The Green Lovers, which I want to read next.

Finally, another idea I hadn’t thought of is learning the skill of creating an “artificial familiar”. Also known as a “tulpa” in Tibet, or a “thought form”, this is basically a being that you create with your own mind and will for a specific purpose. We already know what the specific purpose is; now, we need to learn how to do it.

More later!

Day #28 on my Search for a Soul Mate

So, there’s this young man I work with.  I will not identify him – he's a temp, I'm a perm, and the last thing he needs is to get canned because a cougar is drooling over his tail, and who knows how identifyable people are in these blogs …

… nonetheless, he is NOT my soul mate and I have never deluded myself into thinking he was.  He is, however, one of those young, gorgeous quintessentially studly Latino hunks who has the inherant flirtational capability of making all women feel beautiful and desirable … and thus has North and Central American women drooling all over him at the moment.  The only reason South American or European women haven’t joined the drooling parade is because I don’t think he has ever been to either locale.  Were he to board a plane for, say, Rio de Janeiro or Copenhagen, trust me, he’d have women drooling all over him the minute he de-planed and his conquest would be global.

He is, in reality, a good friend.  I’m the one who provoked the friendship by accosting him right after the U.S. men’s national soccer team kicked the crap out of somebody, and no one at the office knew about it except all the Latino men who are passionate about the sport.  He was the first Latino man I saw the next morning, and so I hailed him.  “You DO know the U.S. men’s national soccer team kicked ass last night, right?”

Of course he did.  From that moment he was my best friend at work, and it still took a few months before I suddenly woke up and noticed he was breathtakingly gorgeous.  He was a good decade younger than I was, if not more, so I hadn’t really thought of him that way.  Then all of a sudden – being a mammal – I unfortunately went into heat and that was the end of me not thinking of him that way.  Suddenly “that way” was all I thought about when I thought of him. 

Not that I told HIM that, and I don’t plan to.  I just lusted after him in secret.  Hell, he’s assuredly more sexually perfect in my fantasies than he ever was or will be in real life; men that gorgeous are usually narcissistic and lazy in bed and can usually just lay back, flex their muscles and let the world of women beat a path to their door doing whatever women do to snag a gorgeous man they can impress their girlfriends with. 

I’m convinced that if, by some miracle, he suddenly appeared on my doorstep and announced he had a “thing” for older women – what?  You don’t honestly think I’d say “Forget it, kid!” do you? – I’d end up disappointed in him for not being the mind-reader he is in my fantasies:  the guy who knows by instinct every single little thing that is guaranteed to drive me crazy with desire, leading me up, up, up and … over the “Mountain of O” and back down the other side into weak-kneed bliss.

It did occur to me, however, that the sexual fantasy version of Señor “O” may be another thing I might want to work on lessening as part of the “Search for a Soul Mate”.  I can’t think of any man I’ve ever known who could compete with the perfect fantasy version of this young man.  Well, maybe one.  But how to go about making the lust dissipate I have no idea.

I do know that sometimes these things are difficult to walk away from, whether created in reality or not.  The best example I can think of:  my first love.  You’d think it was someone in highschool or college, but actually, that wasn’t the case.  In fact, I thought of highschool and college boys – when I was surrounded by them – as not all that exciting, and was beginning to wonder if I had an underactive libido or something.

And then I fell in love.  I was 19.  Went to work in an office.  Again will not identify him.  One of the attorneys (married of course) was a paraplegic – childhood polio.  Absolutely charming man – adorable smile.  I liked him very much as a person and hadn’t really thought of him “that way” until one day he asked me to come in to the office on a Saturday and help him with some backlogged work.  We were the only two people in the office that Saturday.

Looking back on the situation, I still can’t believe how young and gullible I was, even then, but I said, “Sure!”, not even imagining that he had anything else on his mind except work.  And in fact, we did catch up on work all morning, but by noon time I was getting extremely horny.  Why?  He was wearing the most erotic musky cologne I’d ever smelled on a man, and every time he came near me I just wanted to inhale him.  We had lunch together in the break room, and then started chatting about this and that.  I definitely noticed he had moved behind me, because the scent of his cologne was driving me crazy.  He told me later that he was fairly sure I wouldn’t reject him because every time he came near me, he said, he watched my nipples harden. 

I had no idea they were doing that (what woman watches her own nipples, just for the entertainment value of it?  That’s a man’s job.)  As for me, I remember being amazed that I had started out the day not thinking of him in any way other than a boss, and by lunch time I so desperately needed him to bang me like a pile driver I thought I would die of longing.  Go figure.

So finally, he just balanced himself on his crutches, leaned over, kissed my neck and stroked the sides of my breasts with his thumbs and watched me have an intense orgasm right there in the break room.  He must have loved it; I couldn’t believe it had just happened.  My face was bright red from the rush and I was gasping for air; he locked the door, removed all my clothing (and very few of his, which was even more erotic for some reason), kissed me all over, paying special attention to various and sundry naughty bits, and then took me on the break room table.  I couldn’t get enough of him, and he was so talented at what he was doing, I had at least two if not more orgasms that afternoon, and that afternoon launched an intense affair that lasted for quite some time until we both had to move to different areas of the country and had to break it off.  I wasn’t sure I’d survive the separation I had become so addicted to him and his ability to send me over the moon on a daily basis.

I always assumed his skill – which was considerable – came from being a paraplegic, in that he had to develop various other talents to compensate for the loss of his legs.  And was he ever skillful:  one of the things he learned early on was how to listen when a woman shyly told him the things that pleasured her.  He figured out early on that by pleasing her, he ultimately succeeded in considerably pleasing himself, and you’d be surprised how few men actually learn that. 

Although I have to say, some of the things which pleased me came out of some of his suggestions.  One of the advantages of an older man bedding an inexperienced young girl is the ability to mold her in many respects to his own pleasures as well.  Sometimes looking back on it, I do wonder how much of my desires now originated with him.   Some definitely originated with me.  But others?  Not so sure.

The advantage that he had in being a benchmark for me that very few men could live up to, was that – as I later learned - most men care only about their miniscule “wham-bam-squirt- and thank you ma’am’s, and most women are so retarded they’ll play along instead of dumping the fool and demanding he come back when he learns something useful.  I recently read a statistic (forget who did the study, though) that only 1/3 of women have experienced orgasms.  Trust me when I tell you:  that’s not ALL the woman’s fault, although women are certainly partially to blame for it.  It is, however, a result of womens’ low standards in settling placidly for idiotic men who only care about their miniscule squirts and nothing else.  It’s really sad.

But I digress.  Point being:  that affair happened decades ago, and very recently I unexpectedly caught a whiff of that same cologne he used to wear.  The moment I smelled it, I had an intense rush of arousal … that was his power, that I could still get that aroused from the scent of his cologne, even after all these years.  Would it be equally as impossible to rid myself of the fantasy of Señor “O”?

I hope not, or the Search for a Soulmate is going to take a dejected turn to the south ...