Dildo Art on the Playa. Burning Man. 2008.

Wow.

I just got back from a two week trip to Burning Man and it’s hard to land again. For starters, I do not have sand in strange places, which I am sure some people do, and which I would imagine could make it hard to land, or sit, but I have showered numerous times since leaving the playa and I haven’t found any weird sand, or other unidentifiable objects, anywhere near my nether regions. And I know it’s always hard to land, but this time it feels really hard. Something is shifting for me here in New York Shitty City, and it has nothing to do with sand. Okay, now I’m just bringing up sand for sand’s sake. Right now I’m lethargic and it has nothing, well, almost nothing, to do with the late nights out (I didn’t have all that many of them) or the fact that my skin started to cook if I stayed in my tent after 8AM. Back home I still can’t sleep all that well, and I think this overall sense of lumping around has to with me. here. now.

In the desert I lived my whole week in the moment. I seriously spent almost every second being exactly where I was. Sure I thought about things at home - mainly my man and my cat - but on the whole, I didn’t think hard about what wasn’t in my control. I lived in a way where I was always where I was supposed to be. And it changed me. Something inside of me has shifted to this place of presence and it’s where I want to stay.

A place where I’m a little kinder. A little gentler. A touch wiser. A whole lot hornier.

I am really horny right now. I’ve been really horny since this past Saturday at Burning Man. Before that I was only feeling dusty, but something shifted in me the day before the last day of the event. It wasn’t that I wanted, or needed, to hump, in fact the two major dust storms really put a damper on my mojo, but something shifted in me on Saturday. I can actually feel the shift in my organs, my systems, my internal structure. I realize now that for the past few months I haven’t been present in my body for more than a few hours at a time. And now, after a week without email, the Internet or Obama/McCain, I am me again. All of me.

Someone use the word sensualist to describe themselves to me, and ever since it’s been stuck in my head like gum on the sidewalk (which btw, if you haven’t ever noticed, in NY there’s not a square of sidewalk without gum). I like the idea of living my life as a sensualist. Of not only being present, but of feeling that presence. Of getting turned on by everything. Wind, sound, a certain look. It’s as if every moment, every breath, is a tangible, graspable entity and once it I can notice things, I can really experience them as they are. I want to feel the world, as well as experience it, and think sensually even when I’m not thinking sexually.

For some reason the word sensualist makes my skin tingle. I’m going to go with this feeling for as long as I can. I want to touch my life, not just live it. I want to experience my partner, not just fuck him. I want to find the sensual in everything I do, even as my fingers touch each key as I type these words. It’s not going to be easy to make this last, but the more I think about it all, the hornier I get.