Van life: a journey in patience & gratitude

Van life: a journey in patience & gratitude

The Van roof went back on last night. Today is the second day of glorious sunshine that has been forecasted for this week and I am glowing. Vitamin D will be my go to this winter, as I adjust to winter again after 12 months.

Mystery the magick van 1

Mystery the magick van 1

Hopefully today it will all be sealed up so if there’s any moisture the rest of the week I can breathe easy. It’s been almost 2 weeks to get this work done: lift the roof, remove the old seals, trims, screws and all the flakey crunchy rusty bits. We treated it with a rust killing acid that turns the sandwitchy rust black. It’s really cool process – that’s science folks.

It’s been an emotional journey too. Restoring my van while living in it – every blog I’ve read says “things I’d never do again: live in a van while restoring it!” And now I believe them. However it’s really given me the perspective that – this is my house, I’m restoring my house. Sure the last two weeks it’s been like living in a tent – with a foot gap between the roof and the body of the van and a flappy tarpaulin keeping the rain out. My thanks and gratitude goes out to a warm sleeping bag and blow up camping mattress, my amazing immune system and crystallised ginger, hot tea and kombucha! Next up patching the tiny holes that we uncovered after stripping away the flakey rust, and putting the windscreen back in with a new seal. Oh to be wind proof and a little more vaguely air tight again. It’s exciting.

Mystery the magick van 2

Mystery the magick van 2

 

Over the weekend I went to a monthly witches “Cauldron” a coffee meet-up with a focus on trees. It was so wonderful to talk again about our connections to nature. Asking permission to work with leaves, branches or flowers, and feeling instinctively the response from them. We talked about the changing of seasons, and the shift out of summer – oooh to listen to them all speaking about how much they love Autumn. I’ve been terrified of it, surrounded by people in the southern hemisphere who view Canada as one whole country of cold snow and ice in the winter – and many, many Vancouvrians who speak of nothing but rain, rain, rain, rain and more rain.

I’m again feeling like I got sucked into group think and felt overwhelmed by it. Okay, sure it is probably going to rain HEAPS here over winter, but it hasn’t been so bad yet, and I’m enjoying the shift in seasons (when I’m not freaking out about weather sealing my van). It’s only been as cold as Melbourne and Auckland get in Autumn, nothing drastically terribly horrible has happened yet weather wise here at all – except the hurricane on the West coast was called Florence. Oooooo.

I am excited – my wee little wood fire stove will go into the van in the next week or two (not exactly sure how/ when) and I’ve started planning out my new floor plan – trying to get even some of the wonderfully creative interior design ideas out of my head onto paper and think of all the little spaces I can use, create and build. How to decorate, and infuse this van with my flare, creating my own magical castle inside my tiny home on wheels. IT’S SO EXCITING.

Mystery the magick van 3

Mystery the magick van 3

I am actively choosing to be excited not worried.
I am actively choosing to be excited not worried.
I am actively choosing to be excited not worried.

 

Van life is exhilarating and I don’t want it any other way, and I’m learning the patience to enjoy the journey just as much as I will revel when she is done. OR will she ever be fully finished? Am I ever going to stop tweaking, restoring or changing little things.. Probably not. It’s going to be a wonderfully cozy and nesty winter, I’m looking forward to having my space that I can invite others to share it with me. To bask in its cosiness beside me.

Re-Pattern, Re-Wild: Feral Wild Animism Belonging

Re-Pattern, Re-Wild: Feral Wild Animism Belonging

I find myself in my head a lot. Over thinking, planning and analysing. More often than not I operate from a head space, or so is my perception of myself. My body has a super loud voice, viscerally telling me if something is right or not, but it’s taken me 33 years to learn really how to truly listen to it when it shouts at me.  Even if it is as simple as communicating to those around me that I’m doing something outside of my comfort zone and am feeling super anxious about it.

I got back from Evans Lake on Saturday. A beautiful camp on one of those stereotypically breathtakingly beautiful and picturesque lakes with pine trees right to the shoreline and towering blue mountains in the background that Canada is so famous for.  The air filled with bird and tree noises during the day, woodpeckers tapping out bugs from trees, the ravens caw echoing across the lake as it imitates some bizzare cackle, and the trees talking to each other around the valley. The water lapps listfully at the dock I’m sitting on in the sun, watching it sparkle and dance over the slight ripples the wind is making in the water. I’m feeling very vulnerable and open – witch camp has this magical way of creating a safe space for me to explore all my deepest vulnerabilities and edges, roughly destroy any lingering crutches or unhelpful security blankets, then provide the support and love needed to put my heart back together and repattern, and re-wild my being into a stronger, more self loving, more self confident version of me.

My comfort zone is interpersonal skills, performance, facilitation, or things that ask me to step outside myself and observe, analyse or look at myself in relation to others.  Looking at myself in relation to nature, the earth and my existence and communication with it, is all very new ground.

Innately I am drawn to it.  My mind calms when I am in the forest, swimming or splashing in a waterfall, but when I am not moving, when my body is not galavanting my brain across a mountain path, I find the brain voice takes over. I start looking at things technically, as photographer, or even drifting mentally far away checking in with all the minute and mundane carry on in my life that may even be the slightest bit worrisome.

Feral.  

Wild.

Animism.

Belonging.

Being the city version of wild has been a massive part of my story, drug and alcohol fueled mischief and mayhem. Getting lost in music, darkness and nightclub lights to shut up the constant static dribble in my brain.  Here my body is vibrating to the boom of bass, writhing in a sea of hollow beings, zombied and numbed out of this reality into a darker world. All the connections or what I thought were friendships from this era of my life have evaporated, realising these friendships were parasitic for what they could use me for.  My little socially awkward, shy inner child learning to ‘perform’ friendship, devastated and longing for connections that meant something more lasting.

Survival is animalistic, and sometimes comes at a cost of shutting down bodily and emotive responses to accomplish a task. I’ve run away from life and survival several times, turning to sex work to survive, selling my body to feed, clothe myself and at one point in secret also support a partner.  All my life I have admired the strong ones, who stood up for sex workers, were proud of their profession and choice of work. My experience felt shameful, full of guilt from my conservative christian upbringing. I couldn’t talk about it, I can’t even physically remember large chunks of time I spent servicing the patriarchy.  

 

Since I started talking about it again I have been slowly healing, taking down my walls against all those I saw that resembled the men who used to use me in exchange for my survival.

 

Belonging. What is belonging? Is it feelings of validation that are not connected with sexual gratification?  Is it feelings of being worthy or valued that doesn’t come with expectations of submission or meeting sexual needs?  Part of my healing process has been crucially connected to the difference between intimacy and sex. Feeling connected, belonging and letting go the desire to please, present a version of my self curated for the audience at hand in order to please, or be liked.  I always felt like didn’t belong in my conservative christian family who still to this day pray daily for me to repent of my homosexual lifestyle, and who would probably turn a horrified shade of pale if they read this story.

 

I am a feral Sagittarian body, held in check by a cautious, risk averse, slow processing Capricorn brain, with my delicate Piscean moon flowing with emotions, feels and love looking for a safe place to share and be seen and heard.

I allowed my body and emotions to drive me all last week at camp.  I let it break me, re-wild me, re-wire, re-pattern me. We had a cave, we wrote, scrawled cried our stories out on the cave walls.  We talked to the earth, listened to the guidance of the stones, connected our hearts, skin, bones and beings with the living things all  around us. Green bloods, the bones and life force of animals worked into our magick with permission, consent. Remembering that we were all once in constant communication, that the seasons worked around and within us all.  Throwing off the constraints of the over culture of today, the expectations, the internalised shame and believing in each other, being and believing in ourselves.

I stood in that circle of humans, markings of my feral wildness smudged all over my face. I had made my mark on the cave wall.  An outline of my hand, the word “body” and a love heart.

My commitment to myself, to stay true to myself, be aware of painful of situations where my bodily responses completely shut down in order to survive. A pact of self love and kindness that I am worthy of love, I am loveable, and that I can find intimacy that isn’t sexually dependant, and sex that is conscious, gloriously consensual and doesn’t ever define my worth as a human to myself or to others. My body went into shock.  I stopped being conscious of the story my lips were sharing with the group. I let go, broke, and my mind fully released control – to my body. Tears flooded down my face, and my lungs heaved with relief of releasing and acknowledging my trauma and pain. Not comparing it to the gravity of the experience that others shared, but appreciating the healing, and space held around me. Conscious of the arms that slinked in around me, not conscious of who they were, as I collapsed into the soft caring shoulder offered to me. You all held me in my moment of grief, vulnerability and fragile healing.  You all have a special place in my heart.

Feral.  Wild. Animism.  Belonging.

The Arrogance of Belonging

The Arrogance of Belonging

I have a public Voice:  Deciding to create is scary, deciding to create in a field where there are already thousands of products is scarier.  That point of pressing the go button that I realised this project will have so many eyes on it, and that my art is out there for public opinion is daunting.  To be rejected and criticised is the tax I will pay on having a public voice.  Even really the loudest critic I have to work with is the one that lives inside my own head. Radio K-Fuck has been saying all these things to me in the last few weeks:

– You’re not a photographer
– Your photos aren’t very ood
– You’ve never made a documentary before
– You have no idea how to run a crowdfunding campaign
– You’re not an expert Tarot reader
– What makes you an authority to decide this should be created
– People will think you are narccasistic
– You don’t have any qualifications in this field
– Will anyone really care once it’s been created
– That’s alot of effort to put into creating if no one knows it exists
– What if you get called a fraud?
– People will think you’ve only done it for money
Thank you for coming on this journey with me.  Here is my pep-talk to myself.
I am in deep love with my creative project, but am realising that it must not be my child.  I can nurture, create and foster it all through the creation process, but once it is done, I must let it go.  I am not doing this to get hundreds of followers.  I create my art from a place of creative necessity, that speaks from the darkest places in my heart. I create out of pure love of the creation process.  Telling my story is the only story that I can tell. The only story I am qualified to tell. Not to tell my story, and how I am finding, learning and growing myself through my Queer Tarot Project would feel like I was living a fake life.
What motivates me with this project is the need to be seen, to be known… Hell I don’t even need to be liked. I just want people to say “I see you.” To me, my definition of being an artist is: walking through the world saying “don’t erase me.”  I feel like this is my journey to finding my voice, unblocking the fear of being shot down for speaking up or having an opinion  In the case of my Queer Tarot project I think that collective “me” resonates.  It is saying that “We matter. Our stories matter, and we have a place in tarot and other forms of spiritual or esoteric practices”.
I need to know that I’m here, and alive. I need to know that you feel that Im here. I’m still learning what it feels like to be okay to take up this space in the world. To create, to make things, to make art, and say to the World, “Here I am”.  It is through this project, every time I create a new Tarot card with someone, that I am finding the lost pieces of myself, healing the brokenness of my confidence, finding again the magick and light in my soul.  Physically, mentally and emotionally living the lessons of each card as it comes alive.
My older, wiser (some how that seems perfectly logical) future self would say to me, “Stop being so hard on yourself, you’re doing just fine, just keep at it. You are more courageous than you think.” Thanking the inner critic radio for keeping me alive today and deciding to take those risks, and jump into the fire feet first. I realised just now that I live terrifyingly. I consistently and on-purpose, put myself in situations where I absolutely have no idea what I’m doing, then FURIOUSLY go about learning every single thing I can to become proficient at the thing I’m trying to do.
– Moving countries
– Applying for jobs
– Starting my own business
– Making Tarot Cards
– Making a documentary
– Making image-recognition fancy thing for my tarot cards
– Dating… haha
This I guess is the arrogance of belonging. I belong here because I have showed up to learn, create and do the work. I may not be the best or even the worst but I have showed up to my life and I am here and creating shit.  “You’re out of your mind.” “Good, all the best things happen outside of mind.” I have to remind myself that this applies to all of this list I just wrote.
Over and over again, but although right now at this very moment of writing I feel incredibly uncomfortable with this change and the flux I’m going through, it is also an environment that I flourish in: It’s challenging, with lots of opportunity to lear and try new things. Thanks Amy for helping make this okay for myself again.  I am still getting used to the idea that I find my power when I feel the most powerless. When I feel the most restless I will find ways of channeling that energy into creativity.
Life doesn’t happen to me, it happens FOR me, And I keep doing these things for myself not too myself.  It’s not enough to love my art, I must believe my art, my Queer Tarot project, all you wonderful humans who have touched my life with your stories – that you love me back.
What makes it all just a little bit easier is the knowledge that there is nothing I can put out there that is truely my own. Every idea has already been done before, even this idea of a Queer Tarot deck.  I started and immediately found 5 or 6 people already creating their own interpretation of what this idea brought to them.   All I can do is follow the fire in me and share it with my voice and my experience.  That is all that is unique about this – Me.
I love you, wholeheartedly.
xxx
Flossy
Talk to yourself like you talk to those you love: Fear has no volume control.

Talk to yourself like you talk to those you love: Fear has no volume control.

Fear doesn’t have a volume control – any time you try something new it thinks you will wind up dead. Stop and think about the times fear has saved your life, and then think of the time where fear doesn’t have perspective or the big picture that you have in your consciousness. Fear and creativity will always be linked. Remember the opposite of depression is vitality. There is enough within me that I inspire myself, that my sense of adventure or curiosity can thank my fear for highlighting the risks and encourage myself to make a decisions that move me forward, even just slightly joyfully.

I’ve been wanting to write about this for quite a while. Becoming a photographer, calling myself an artist has almost literally come out of nowhere. In looking back on my life so far, I see all the experiences I’ve had that have taught me the background to what I know. I’m not here by accident, I’m not doing this work because I am unqualified. This is my passion purpose for now, and I will continue to evolve with it as it also evolves, as is the impermanent nature of life. This is my story of gratitude.

I was in the shower when the conceptual idea of creating my photographic Queer Tarot Cards. I’m not the only one who’s had this idea either but I’m excited that I have opportunity to express my iteration of this inspiration. So when my inspiration came to me, in a skin tingling moment of clarity it lit a fire under my butt like I hadn’t felt in ages. I feel calm and clear headed in the shower, a place where nothing else seems to matter past the warmth and water on my skin.

I believe in magickal spirit beings, and to me inspiration is the personification of exactly that. That mischievous sprite flys with the wind, getting carried with swirls and turns to the east and west. In all it’s travels it is looking for a way to become realised, to be transported from the spirit realm into the human realm, and I believe this is not just a one way journey. Sometimes we wake up in the morning and think “OOOOHhhhh I’ve had this marvelous idea, or oh what an amazing dream.” If we do not capture that, weather it be writing it down or taking action to realise that idea, it can and will leave, float away, drift off to another being to be realised. Have you ever heard stories about someone saying “Oh that was MY idea” or “I was going to write that book?” Do you think this is a coincidence. They did indeed have that idea, and maybe they didn’t give it their due diligence, love, attention or action it was looking for. I think an idea or inspiration can also be realised be several people. Maybe that wind of creativity blows through me, I feel it’s magick and bring that idea to life. But I have no ownership of it, I can’t keep it, or lock it up. In fact trying to do just that is a sure fire way of killing that inspiration.

So with that context – I have a contract with my creative work. I have a duty, and wonderful purpose to bring it to life. Right now it is my Queer Tarot project, in future it might be something new and different. My creativity inspires maintains and energises me, and will for the rest of my life. I will feel like a successful photographer, writer, creator and artist, before and after you guys call me a successful one. I am authentically honouring the gift of inspiration that has visited me, as well as expressing my soul through the creative process.

All my art is part of my journey taking me to the next level, and I don’t even know what that level is yet. There is nothing more successful than the person who is confident enough to be stupid, to take risks and put themselves out there. This is where the uncertainty of change comes in. I have been living in a life of constant change and uncertainty for the last 6 months, traveling, working for myself, and stripping my life of all the unnecessary fluff. Now I have just started a job here in Vancouver. My fear has wonderfully piped up and warned me of getting stuck, observing that I now have an hour and a half commute that is “wasted time, scaring me with the idea of losing my vitality and creative energy. I’m writing this letter in part to you, but predominantly to myself, to thank my fear, to hold space it for highlighting to me the things I now can be aware of taking action and making change in those areas. Yes, a 3 hour round trip commute feels like an absolute drag, but I’ve found podcasts I can listen to which light me up, I have laughed, smiled, and almost cried with the joy of listening, learning and exciting my mind. One of the podcasts Elizabeth Gilbert talked to a girl who described herself as having the most boring job in the world. Yes she did exactly the same thing every day, and I am grateful I am not in that position. I have creativity and variety in what I do, that I really enjoy. The thing I really took away is the highlight that nothing is ever static, there is energy all around, and especially in frustration there is much power to create the inertia for change or creativity.

My contract with my creative inspiration currently means I have to make my Queer Tarot project happen, to give up myself, or to give myself over to the call to create. Right now I am choosing the trade off of working and creating simultaneously so I can travel to meet and work with more people globally and create magick with them in 6 month time. What happens after that I don’t know, and I am happy to let that just sit. And I know that my inspiration owes me nothing, following it doesn’t guarantee success, it just offers me the transcendence of working with it at all. The dance that doesn’t include my ego, just the pure gratitude of showing up and actively participating in my own experience.

I feel an entitlement at my inner heart level. The joy and arrogance of belonging, of calling myself and artist or a photographer and owning it. I am, I am here, I have desires, I have voice, I have a statement to make and oh so much pleasure to pursue. I’m here to celebrate this particular magick of creation in my life. This is my curiosity, I am alive enough to see what that is. Today, this month, maybe this year, maybe even next year, Queer Tarot is my creative gift, my inspiration, the creative thing that consumes me. The only unique contribution we will make in the world is the gift of creativity. Creativity in whatever way I end up expressing it, is how I share my soul with the world.

As I write this, my fear crops up again. Am I sounding like a overly optimistic rose tinted dreamer writing all this. Then I think to the times when I’ve been told to “come back down to earth” or that my voice wasn’t worth hearing, or that I wasn’t who I was supposed to be. These wounds I am healing in myself with a ruthless dedication to following my curiosity. Expressing my creativity. You know, it might not work every time, it won’t always see the light of day, I make and create far more than I share or I publish. But everything I do I am proud of, they contain a little of me, and little of that magickal gift of inspiration that I am so blessed and grateful to have been blessed with.

I am happy. I self generate my own happiness, and I am energised by following my creative curiosity. I wish sometimes to date, but getting past my fear of losing myself in a relationship is another story for another day. Thank you so much for coming along on this journey with me, for allowing me to be heard. Pen-pals, please write back to me, I would love to hear about your journey with fear and curiosity / creativity. If you want more, the book Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert is an amazing place to start.

Love xxx

Flossy

Pigeon post

Pigeon post

No pigeons were harmed in the sending of this letter.

I’ve been here three weeks. I still pinch myself when I open google maps and the little blue dot says “northern hemisphere” you’re in CANADA! Im falling in love with the place, so far the warmth of springs honeymoon phase has been delightful. The crisp fresh air, the snow speckled mountains in the north and the gulf islands have definitely caught my attention.

I’m currently writing to you on a bus off to my second hike/ camping trip since I got here. First was a gorgeous place called Salt Spring Island. I went over for a Beltaine ritual. The camp ground was not quite fully reachable by public transport and it was the easiest hitch-hiking experience I’ve had. I guess I did look obviously like a tourist and my accent is a dead giveaway.

The camp ground was the middle ground between sea and forest, gorgeous during the day, pines towering above me. Rocky foreshore , bleached drift wood, the smell of salt and wet earth and the distant sound of boat air horns as they leave the shore. Looking into the sky it’s unfamiliar to me. The stars are new friends I neeed to learn, a different angle to the galaxy reminding me the southern cross is indeed down under. We set up for the ritual, creating magick, and a maypole. I joined to help tearing colourful sheets into to long ribbons to decorate with the weaving dance of spring. Round and round to the beat of the drums and 40+ chanting voices, over, under, over, under. Many songs later we sit very well rugged up around our Beltaine fire toasting marshmellows and feeling the heat bring a ruddy glow to our faces. This is a freedom that is magick. This is my culture, my celtic heritige and it feels like home.

A few days later I find myself in a room of at least 100+ handsome and bearded men. You raise an eyebrow at me wondering what on earth has brought me here. No it’s not a Canadian farming or forestry convention full of plaid, cowboy hats and big leather boots. I did however find a store that did stock the epitome of that entire stereotype and nearly walked out with a pair of leather boots myself.

No I’m at the Vancouver Mens Chorus, which is 98% gay I’m told. They’re darlings and filling the room with their delightfully booming voice the room resonates with Musical theatre tunes “Anything goes” to slight more camp wonders “Is he Gay or just European?!”

So you’re still wondering why I’m there? My wonderful friend Mama Alto, connected me with a person I’d have to describe as Vancouver’s music and theatre socialite / producer who invited me along to recruit more Canadians across a very broad age range for my Queer Tarot Project. Nothing like hitting the ground running.

I’ve officially completed 47 photoshoots, finishing the Major Arcana with 36 cards including all the duplicates. I’ve only another 45 to go, but I’m estimating maybe another 50 shoots to go to finish the Tarot Deck. Along the way creating all the individual videos that will be the card interpretations as well. The big goal tho is to make a short film / documentary, probably initally under 15 minutes to have ready for the Vancouver Queer Film Festival in March next year. Not unusual for me to do everything at once and set myself a gloriously ambitious goal. Nice in this case there’s no downside, if I can do it and make it happen I’ll be over the moon, if not the good news is these events happen over and over again year after year.

Manifestation is powerful ya’ll! I’ve been revelling in gratitude since I got here. I’m living in a beautiful house with a gorgeous room and housemate I met Burning Man a few years ago. I’ve got purchasing a vehicle in the works and decided I’d work for a few months so I could travel more extensively for the next few months after that next year. I am enjoying my own company, traveling alone and meeting all kinds of people out and about.

Thank you all so much for your letters and replies back to my emails. I’ve barely had any homesickness yet thanks to the love and conversations I’ve had at weird hours of the day back n forth to Australia and New Zealand.

I haven’t seen a moose yet. I’ve seen canada geese, a skunk at a safe distance a brown squirrel and 2 wild deer. I think half of Canada is serious about bears and the other half is writing books to pull my leg “a bear at my lunch”. I’ve walked through the bush in the dark at night scaring myself silly with the thought of a lurking cougar, to realise I’m in a populated park and the dogs everwhere aren’t going crazy barking.

The nudie beach is quite the experience, from wandering alcahol sales people to show ponys parading up and down the beach, I dont think I’ve ever been at such a busy beach surrounded by so many people completely starkers. New Zealand nudie beaches I remember, you’d just know not to approach that tent in the bushes 2m up the beach, with few people in cussing distance of one another.

It was a very warm day for spring, 26° I think, and I’m sitting there looking at the glistening water longing for a swim wondering why there’s absolutely no one swimming! Weird I think to myself, sure it’s a sheltered bay, and the water looks clean enough. So I think to myself “fuck it, I’m going in”. Thinking nothing would be nicer than laying there floating warmed by the sun, relaxing in the water. How wrong I was. Running in to get over the first dip chill I quickly realised this was no normal chill, this is the Atlantic Ocean and boy was it ICY. Running now up to my upper thighs in water, I was winded by the cold temperature change and proceeded to flail anything but gracefully face first into the freeeeeezing water. I couldn’t feel my toes almost instantly. “Okay” I thought to myself, “guess this is why there’s no one bloody swimming then!” I tried a couple more times but without a wet suit it would just be rather an unpleasant experience. Luckily the sun was divine and my skin warmed up and dried off in no time, leaving a baked and salt me to find my way home.

Anyways thats all from me tonight..

Wishing you magick and love

Xxx

Sexy is a Contradiction & Self Love

Sexy is a Contradiction & Self Love

This week I am stopping to remind myself that confidence is something that ebbs and flows.  Something that has cycles just like the seasons. I’m currently on my moon cycle and this month I feel a heightened sense of shadow self. So I’m just going to sit with it, heal, to feel all my emotions, to be kind to myself and forgive myself instead of being my own worst enemy.  I don’t feel sexy when I’m on my rag. I don’t feel sexy when I’m feeling low. One of my very dear friends, challenged me to go to a place in my head when I did feel sexy and sit in that energy, to absorb that happy and warm feeling, to remind me I have it within me even if it is on a little break for a quick minutes’ rest. So here is my “Sexyiess is a Contradiction” musing.

I feel sexy when I’m alone, the air is thick with music playing that my body can’t resist to dance to and misty smoke swirls of delicious incense fill the air. My body feels in touch with my inner magick and power.  When I feel like the dark and light all at the same time, when I’m not the naive little girl I used to feel like, when I feel like the woman grown, mature, wise and sensual in the way I move, hold myself and know how and when to share my energy with people who deserve it. I feel sexy when someone looks at my energy, connects with the me that hides behind my eyes.  When the manic noise of all our existences slows down for a second and we just breathe, giving space for beauty, silence and all the senses to come alive.

Sexy is shaving all past off my head and letting my tears flow, feeling vulnerable, standing in the middle of the campsite naked in the warm spring pouring rains, with not a care in the world.

Sexy is stranding up for myself when I’m scared and hurting.  Sexy is looking into someones eyes and seeing that although I’ve changed and gotten a bit more beaten up around the edges I’m still the truest version of ME that exists right now and being proud of that. Sexy is the wink the glance across the room from someone who makes me blush and heart beat faster. Sexy is watching seeing someone enthusiastic and in the moment and rhythm of what they love to do. Sexy is getting lost, losing all sense of time and space in movement, passion, sound and rhythm.

Create Magic: Baby Flossy

Create Magic: Baby Flossy

Sexy isn’t the modeling photos I shot 10 years ago that I showed you when I wanted your attention. Sexy isn’t the memories of my clubbing days, the skimpy outfits, big smiles and enlarged eyeballs of the young me that drowned out my inner introvert with colour, noise and wild adventure.  That self didn’t know how to make any kind of deep or meaningful connection. That self didn’t give a fuck, but made no space for vulnerability or things less superficial.

Those to me represent eating disorder I battled when I was 20, the way I knew how to contort my body half one way and half the other to create the illusions you see in photos. Sexy isn’t someone finding me attractive, putting me on a pedestal of what they admire in me. Sexy isn’t the sheer revealing clothes I wore as a sex worker, selling my body for money to support me and my ex girlfriend even though she didn’t know that’s what I was doing.

Sexy is refusing to conform to the unachievable social norms of women’s beauty standards, and embracing my dork, my short colourful hair that will never be “normal”, sexy is forgiving myself for binging on food and alcohol that makes my body feel and look shit, and healing myself with baths, hot showers and delicious fresh food that makes my heart sing. Even if it costs more to feed myself this way, when suddenly I’m not flush with money, I make this a small self love priority.

Sexy is floating in the ocean, the sea lifting the weight of my boobs off my chest and letting my legs relax after holding me up all day. Feeling like a streamlined ocean creature that loves water and moves swiftly and gracefully through the warm salty water at sunset, that feels sexy. I can imagine a place where the sky is magical and covered in stars, I feel safe and at home in my space- maybe a tent by myself, warmth envelops me in a comforting blanket of love, and my shape melds with blankets and covers. I like being that sexy slug. There I don’t feel like you have any expectations of me and what my confidence in myself should be. There I don’t have to be or do or look a certain way in order to gain approval from anyone.

Letting myself be okay and at peace with rarely feeling sexy around other people. Making space for being scared of be vulnerable or sharing my insecurities – which have always been there, bubbling like a little creek. I’m just putting less energy into hiding them now, the creek doesn’t go underground any more. I can’t pretend to be the eternal optimistic fountain of all joy and carefree optimism 24/7 – I still am these qualities, however I am allowing myself to be more selective with who I share that joy with.

I love being open and connecting with wonderful people I meet on an emotive level, but I choose who, how and when I let people in or share that gift with now.  I’ve been told two or three times recently that I’ve much thicker walls up now and I’m much less open than I used to be. This used to worry me, but I wonder if it is because people who used to feed of this energy no long find it accessible to them? 

My sexy is now sacred to me. My sexy is my gift, my joy. Those photos on the internet of me almost naked showing the curves, the body, the smiles and the “seduction”- THIS is my performance art.  I’m a great performance artist but I want to retire from “being on show”. I want to retire from supporting everyone else with my positive free spirit attitude. I really truly believe love increases the more you share it but am exploring my boundaries keeping it safe and protected, I think just for now. I know right now my boundaries are pretty close and tight, and as time passes and I grow I believe they will expand to share and love more people and be more open again.  Sacred joy, sacred shadow self, winter of self love that grows back when I nurture it softly.

I feel sexy when someone approaches me to bootblack my leather shorts. I feel sexy when I feel my dance partners body pressed against mine and know she can read my body language.  I feel sexy when I’m naked in the warm summer rain. I feel sexy when your eyes never reach my body they stare deep into my soul and when tears stream down my cheeks they keep eye contact with you and you show me your openness and softness in return. I feel sexy when you say you’ll miss me but we’ll still hold space and love and support each other even if we won’t live in the same country for a while. I feel sexy when I hold you to warm you up on a cold night out and your body leans back into mine. Everything happens for a reason, it’s up to us what we do with these experiences. <3