Here’s a “cat of a different color:”
 |
| Catherine Yronwode, circa 1977, from the Wikipedia |
Once a part of my outer circle; though I never met the woman, I heard stories a plenty. I had my own sadhana. I consulted quite a few books. I tried it all out in the, er, comfort and privacy of my own home. I worked at not working at the pranic ida and pingala. But I kept hearing stories about the crazy Cat who could, despite not looking like a movie star, get all the men in the room to stand at attention and worship. To fight to defend and honor, to love, cherish and obey. Pretty impressive for a bunch of reprobates. My favorite Cat story illustrates the mastery over masculine folly perfectly. It seems that once a jolly fellow without a clue was invited to the Ozark enclave. (How?) He got a look at the lay of the land and then was out on the pay phone at the convenience store to his buddies. “Hey. You gotta come down and check this out. Wide open beaver as far as the eye can see.” The arrow flying out of the mouth. Cat was blind as a bat, seeing as little as a foot before her face (as I heard tell), but she had wicked sharp hearing. She was also surrounded by well wishers and protectors. It was an enclave, after all. And yes, there was a lot of skinny dipping going on. We all practiced this, including me in my inner circle. (Ah! In the summers, in Sufi camp, we’d float out on warm ponds, our asses skyward, dreaming of the spiritual heights we would achieve once we submitted to the oneness and learned to control our sexuality. In practical fact, this meant each working the other’s way around the circle of band mates and friends, looking for that perfect union in which up is down, in is out, and going is coming. If you catch my drift.) But I digress. It (the remark about wide open beaver) got back to Cat by way of human microphone. Her response? To bide her time. Until the fellow was out on the pond in the altogether, thinking he’d be partaking of the action. The Cat approached him from behind, stalking like a panther. She had him where she wanted him, herself unseeing and unseen. She put her loving arms around his head, covering his eyes. She cooed,
“Guess who?”
“Who’s there?” the dolt responded.
“Wide open beaver!” she said, directly into his ear. Not at all lovingly.
Busted. “No soup for you!”
Or so I heard tell.
In the nineties, as I struggled once again to get a grip amidst the onslaught of hurtful, destructive passion, I came upon Cat’s (now old, then new) website about the sacred sex. I read all of this, but knew it wasn’t going to fly with my wild bird. (You want to do what?) Still, I wanted to close the loop. I emailed Ms. Yronwode. We batted the words back and forth a bit, reminiscing. Then she sank again, back into memory and the flow of time.
Now, I notice (last night’s research) that she’s got an article in the wikipedia. Famous, amos. By now, she cannot be the spring chicken she once was. But I’ll tell you what. She may be old, but I’ll bet she still gets hot.
Her article “Venus Takes a Refresher Course” is still a good read.
Here, at the outset of a new year, I’d like to think that all of this is old hat. It’s pretty much hard wired daily practice by now; not needing to think of the words, having lived them all of these intervening years. Never mind the occasional meltdown due to passion. We’re human. Get used to it, kiddies. But maybe it’s good to take a refresher. What would I call such an article on such re-research? Beck bones up? I think not. Check that list of resolutions. More this, less that.
Less noise.
More signal.
Less waste.
More spend.
Less hide.
More seek.
Less pray.
More say.
Less work.
More money.
Less drink.
More eat.
More sex.
Much more love.
Get to it, one and all.