Fat in your face! Kapow!

Last Friday, my beloved Ari and I went for dinner at our favorite Vietnamese place in the Castro. We’d put a lot of sweat equity into our house that afternoon, and looked forward to some delicious fresh garlic salmon. We were seated almost immediately, the place was  full and diners throughout seemed to be celebrating the weekend.

Ari left to the bathroom, and as I sat there alone, it was impossible to ignore the full-volume LOUD conversation happening between the two women, one Chinese, one white,  sitting at the table next to mine, about 18 inches away.

They were discussing fat, and how gross it was, and how they did everything in their power to avoid it.

They talked about their starvation diets, about how bad they feel about when their pants are tight, and about their friend Jim’s hilarious love-handles. They laughed loudly at his sensitivity about them. It went on and on.  I sat there, wondering, what is the right way to handle this? There were no other empty tables. I was hungry. I was experiencing intense fat-shaming, and I was paying to be there. I had no desire to gently ask them to stop, educate them about why it wasn’t cool, or engage with it in any kinder way.

At that moment, I was all “Fuck that.”

Ari returned, and something in my face let him know things were not okay.

“It’s so totally obnoxious when people spew their fat hatred everywhere” I said, matching my tone with theirs.

“I know” he immediately replied, “especially when they are cluelessly sitting right next to two fat people who might feel hurt or upset.”

Have I told you how much I love this man? Yep.

We continued, discussing at a loud volume about how to raise our BMI, how to get our fat to jiggle even more, and if we should order 6 or 9 entrees. We decided that we could always order more.

We went on to discuss the sex we would have when we got home, and how he hoped he wouldn’t lose his hand again in my fat folds. About how we’d shower first, to get rid of that noxious smell emanating from our fat. And how then, after he fisted me in my c-nt, we’d eat again.

The voices at the other table were quieter, and for some reason there was no more hate-speech next to us.

I went on to enjoy my meal, and enjoy my partner’s company.

On my way out the door, I stopped and blessed these woman, that they would have healthy, wonderful, smart fat babies to love with all their tiny hearts. 

Not everyone’s form of activism, I get it. Super intense and in-yer-face. But that fat-shaming shit is just so socially acceptable, and so demeaning and hateful.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve just sat there, saying nothing. Sometimes it’s what it takes to get through dinner.  And that sucks. But this time, I felt good about doing something that changed my experience of it. Something that made me feel powerful. Something that didn’t leave me in a melty heap, ashamedly eating my fish. Fuck that and fuck them, for not cleaning up their oppressive bullshit.

I know I’m supposed to have compassion or something for the stupid socialization that they have endured, and how they are acting out violence and hegemony upon their own bodies, but hey, I don’t.

I’ve worked really hard to learn how to not be a hateful asshole. I practice everyday. They can too.

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The Birds and the Bees and the Fucking in the Trees!

When you or a loved one is looking for queer, ecosexual porn to get you hot and bothered, where do you turn?

I know, right? 
If you are like most of us, your poor, sad inner ecosexual don’t get much loving in the media.
Nature is sexy. That’s why they call the big sex talk “the birds and the bees.”  You instinctively knew the sexiness of the Earth as a kid. And now.  You remember it now.
You feel the Eros of the sap as it rises in spring, pulsing through the tree trunks. You experience the subtle pounding in your veins, as the crashing waves of the salty sea are welcomed by the tender shore. You know the silky feel of the river sliding against your naked skin, the hot sun penetrating your pores. You remember the grit of sand against your ass, and the rising of the flesh as cool breeze brushes across your skin.

You know these pleasures. These are ecosexual pleasures.

How do we make love with Earth, our first and final lover? How do we celebrate the sexuality inherent in nature, and manifest it in our own spirits and bodies? Three years ago, I directed and shot a short film that attempts to capture on film our erotic relationship with the Earth and answer these questions. I made this film for you, for us, for all sweet and sexy Earthlings. 

Now, it’s me who needs your help.

Holy MILF Promo img
I’m at a critical moment in the birthing of this community produced and support DIY film, Holy MILF. We’ve raised 30% of our $5000 campaign. In order to complete the final push and get the film into theaters and film festivals for the pleasure of ecosexuals like you everywhere, I need your financial support.
Your contribution will support the final edits, color and sound corrections, and first DVD run. Without these things, Holy MILF will not be able to be shown in theaters.
Your gift is extremely important. Not only is it a way for you to support radical, queer art, it’s also a way for you to bring into the world the kind of erotica that turns you on.

Your gift of $40 will give you the opportunity to download and view Holy MILF,  before it is ever released in theaters! (or choose another hot-n-sexy perk!)

I am deeply committed to bringing to visibility queer ecosexuality for you, your pleasure, your desire and our planet. Saving the planet through pleasure is not something I can do alone, however.
The Indiegogo campaign is here, where you can watch the silly promo video, as well as the beautiful official trailer. Please donate what you can today. The campaign ends this Sunday, 2/22

Your donation will make a world of difference. I promise you.  Click on the link below to visit and donate to get Holy MILF on the screen.

View and Donate to our Indiegogo Campaign!
VISIT OUR CAMPAIGN!

 

A Valentine’s Day Love Letter to My Fat Body

Love letter to my fat body

Dear Body,

I write to you from the garden of the home we share.  The radiant oranges and yellows of the nasturtiums splashing their outrageous beauty everywhere remind me of you.  I thought I’d write and tell you the truthful yearnings of my heart.

When I see you walking with your back straight, your chin raised toward the sky, rolling that big gorgeous ass, I think to myself, “You, YOU are a new paradigm of beauty.”

Your abundant beauty belongs to you.  All those curves and rolls and solid flesh. That way you disregard all the ways you are supposed to be beautiful, and make your own rules instead stuns me with delight. It is a miracle to witness you, to watch your strength and determination, as you live so fatly and fiercely. I know they said you wouldn’t.

I watch you, out of the corner of my eye. I watch as you dance and spin, cutting crazy moves on the dance floor.  I watch as you make raunchy love.  I watch as you gather children, lovers, friends and enemies into your embracing arms. Sometimes, you are so exquisite that I lose my breath.  My heart pounds like its gonna burst out of my chest with an explosion of love and glitter.

When I see you like that, I lose all of my fear. I feel full of confidence, knowing you are mine.  You have been so patient, waiting as I’ve come to know this.

When you pull your tight black tee-shirt over your head, fasten your studded belt around your thick waist, I know you are not concerned about what anyone will say.  Your flesh is molded into the shape of erotic luxury and perilous pleasure.  I love the way you own your desire. You are subversive and dangerous, just by your lines and shape.

You are ripe and delicious, like some rare succulent fruit.  When you let me cup your heavy breasts, stroke your skin with rose oil, and dip my fingers into your secret places that you only share with me, I know pleasure beyond any other.  Can you feel the breath of my adoration humming along your skin?

You are my miracle of beauty and life. I desire to dive deeply into you, to utterly lose myself inside of your wild, free form. Inside of you, I will find home, I just know it.

Big Fat Love,

Pavini Moray, Sexological Bodyworker

P.S.  May I suggest writing a Valentine’s Day love letter to your own body?  Send them to me, and I’ll choose several to publish right here on this blog!

These boots were made for walking: Fluevogs, Sex, Divorce and San Francisco.

I moved to California in 2004, from a homestead in the backwoods of the North Carolina mountains where I literally baked my own bread each week. I could never have imagined all the ways San Francisco would infiltrate my skin, my soul, and my sex.  It ended my marriage, and brought me into my true partnership.  It turned me queerer than I’d ever dared to express before.  It radicalized my life. San Francisco has been, and continues to be, my totally  hot transformative lover, like no other.

Today I’ve been pondering what it is that my child self wants.  Making room for the desires of that girl, and trying to give her space for play and trust.  This afternoon, she has called out for dress up. Boots, in particular.

And although it feels incredibly vulnerable to share, here’s a little post-holiday gift for you.  I wrote this poem in 2005 about the pair of Fluevogs I bought that eventually changed my life. When I wrote the poem, I didn’t know all that would happen, but you’ll notice that somewhere I had a strong inkling, or at least some forshadowing.

As it turns out, I’ve ridden those boots home to a sexuality that continuously expands and furthers my expression of my deep, animal nature.

Back in 2005, my then-partner told me I looked like a prostitute (he didn’t mean in a good way) the very first time I wore the boots.  I was heartbroken.  But something raw and powerful inside insisted I wear them anyway. Ultimately, that moment informed my decision to leave my marriage and reclaim myself.  I felt a distinctive “fuck you” to those threatened by my sexuality.  I continue to feel that way.

In the post-capitalist-frenzy of the holidays, may my humble offering remind you that we can always travel home again, and sometimes the ticket is even for sale.

Buying the Boots on Haight Street, 2005

These boots are San Francisco.

As the striding, heel-crushing totems work their black magic,

supple black leather, long lines, heels curving up like city streets,

I tell my companion I am not ready to ride these.

As the striding, heel-crushing totems work their black magic,

my fingers trace these routes.

I tell my companion I am not ready to ride these

She says I will not wear these boots until I wear these boots.

My fingers trace these routes

like streetcars of desire.

She says I will not wear these boots until I wear these boots,

and there is longing, coveting, desiring.

Like streetcars of desire

carrying a bad-ass passenger,

There is longing, coveting, desiring

to be the woman who owns these boots.

Carrying a bad-ass passenger

Up, up, up, up

Oh, to be the woman who owns these boots,

pouring my legs into the casings, making me taller, badder, readier.

Up, up, up, up,

supple black leather, long lines, heels curving up like city streets,

and pouring my legs into the casings, I am taller, badder, readier.

These boots are San Francisco.

The Day I bought my Fluevogs (looking a little apprehensive.)
The Day I bought my Fluevogs (looking a little apprehensive.)

Is this what I want? Adventures with Wanting, Yearning, and Craving

Is desire at the root of everything human?

(We all come from desire.)

I wake up today (everyday,) and not a full minute goes by before I’m thinking about what I want.  Coffee, return that phone call, text my crush…. and the list goes on.  Every moment of every day, thinking and feeling into what I want.  Sometimes getting what I want, sometimes not.  Sometimes able to ask for it, sometimes, the desire smoldering inside.  Doing all of these human dances, with desire as my constant partner.

It’s got me thinking, this desire thing.

What is it? It seems like every big religion’s got the word on Desire.  Recognize this one? “And the woman saw that the tree was good to eat, and it was desirous for the eyes, and the tree was lovely to behold.”

buddha_stars1Buddha teaches that attachment to desire is the root of suffering: The second noble truth the origin of suffering:  Within the context of the four noble truths, suffering (dukha) is commonly explained as craving.

  • Craving for sensory pleasure
  • Craving for Union (togetherness)
  • Craving to not feel painful feelings (not aloneness)

 

 

 

 

ChinnamastaShakta Tantra (the Hindu variety which I practice) resolves the fundamental dilemma presented by being human and having desires and those desires causing suffering by directing human desires towards liberation rather than repressing them. This philosophy argues that trying to deny certain desires only empowers them further. Rather than repress potentially harmful impulses, Tantra tries to harness them in service of setting ourselves free.

Of course, Christianity gives a narrow container for the expression of limited desires, and seeks to control through fear and punishment all desires that fall outside that purview.

Pagans seem to welcome desire and pleasure, and don’t fret too much (maybe not enough) about the impact on our spiritual development.

In my admittedly very limited knowledge of Islam, it seeks to provide a code for the expression of human desires, seeking balance between wanting and fulfillment of wanting.

Judaism prescribes a law-filled code for the fulfillment of desire as well, that at least includes pleasure.

None of these ways of engaging desire really work for me.  They seem like how it could be, or should be, or an idea…. but not personal enough. My own experience of desire is so complex.  It is often glorious, often painful. My desire ignores codes, rejects shoulds, and is often the antithesis of what is culturally conditioned.  I wonder if this is not the experience of most of us?

Every person I have ever worked with or discussed sexuality with has expressed their desire in completely unique, and specific-unto-them terms.  The only common thread is the liminal, and ever-changing nature of desire, and its insatiable quality.

I want permission for my desire.  This process you are reading is about me giving myself permission, and hopefully giving you permission.  Imagine, all of us, simply wanting what we want.

I desire things that I am not supposed to desire.  I desire much that my socialization tells me are taboo, wrong, disempowered, disgusting, shameful, abhorrent, too far from common decency, too powerful, too violent.  I notice my desire like hunger.

Last week, I noticed the gnawing in my belly.  I tried to fill it with too much Halloween candy. I tried to fill it with socializing, with sex. I tried to fill it, and then I stopped.

Just noticing the hunger, noticing the emptiness, is so hard. It is so terribly hard to just sit with it.  My mind clamors: Try a beer. Try some cuddling.  Try a bath.  Soothe it, dissipate it, quiet it.  Somehow lessen the ravenous void of its immense gaping maw.

Wanting is terrifying.  It is the rawest, most bloody form of nakedness that I know.  Wanting without a tether, without something at the end of the desire, is what lies at the root of the hungers we try to feed through addictions.

This is what I want, right now.

I want her. I want her precious, big-eyed vulnerability.  I want her tenderest tears and fragility. Her badass intellect. Her heartbreak. Her need.  I want to make her come and cry, and then wipe her tears with my hair. I want her to want to give her orgasm to me. I want to cut her heart wide open, and take it from her chest, licking the dripping blood off of it (this is a metaphor.) Or maybe I just want her to text me.

I want him. I want his fierce submission. I want his most vroom vroom passionate passion to have room to express.   I want him to have the flexibility to turn his crazy erotic energy up and turn it down, at will.  I want to see him naked, dancing, feeling completely free within his bondage.  I want the intensity of his James Dean eyes turned on me, his unfettered desire throbbing and thrumming as he awaits my instructions for the afternoon. I want him to serve me lunch.

I want to build a container (a world)  in which you never again question if you are wanted or desirable.

I want to be able to name my desires freely.  (Ironically, while writing this a dear one emails me.  In that moment, I find I want him, too, and write and say so.  Naming my desire is terrifying.)

I want reassurance that my desires are not too big, too disturbed, too insatiable.   

I want to feel poignant, intense feeling. I want to not be separate, insecure, alone.  I want erotic community.  I want magick and synchronicity.  I want clean underwear.

I. want. to. be. taken. care. of.

There are other desires, things named and unnamed, that I will probably never do or have.  I name them (and ask you to know that there are others I am not naming here) because I don’t want to offer you a diluted version of the truth of my desire.  I don’t want to give you lukewarm permission to be fully, completely in your base human desire.  So here is what I also want: I want to sell my body, to make them pay for it. I want to tear and bite with my teeth, rip with my blade.  I want to hurt.  I want to humiliate and I want to worship. I want to lay my body down and open, prostrate myself in front of the Divine, and offer the service of my meager life.

And it never, ever completely goes away, no matter how close, how intimate, how much power exchange, how much energy, how many orgasms.  The wanting remains.

I feel so humbled by the power of my desire.  I have spent years trying to quiet it.  Trying to feed it.  I have this big, fat body to show for it, all my wanting.  While there are certain standbys for bringing comfort and offering temporary satiation, I find that even they are growing old and cold and less effective, as I get closer to being able to express the heart of my desire.

What I am learning about desire, as I give myself full permission to want what I want, is that it almost never is what I expect it to be.  It is continually surprising and an elegant mysterious process of uncovering what I want in each moment.

Internally, my experience of my desire is sweetly familiar and freshly distinctive and exceptional.  I notice I can’t breathe deeply.  The best I can do in that moment is to say, “Sitting here, next to you on this couch, touching your hair, I am feeling desire.”

Of course, the next logical question is “What is your desire?” and it is here the breakdown and the loss and the grief occur.

I can only express around the edges of my desire.  It is not because I am shy, or inarticulate, or unable to tell you because of shame or repression.  It is because when I try to put my desire into words, there is something essential I cannot capture.  Using words, I cannot put my yearning into pure form.  There is something lost in translation.  And no matter how close I get to expressing what I truly want, when you give it to me, there is always another translation gap which I also grieve.

So many different, intricate dances with desire.  What I’ve never done is just stay open to it.  What is on the other side of this yearning?  What is it to not know the answer? What is it to wait, hungrily waiting?  What is it to acknowledge that the want in me is the want of the very universe, exploding itself into being?  What is it to allow feeling that power, to feel the hunger that will never, no matter what, stop?  And even as I contemplate, and practice, just sitting with the wanting, there is that within me that wants to want.

You ask me what I want.

But my dear, although I can never tell you, of course I want you. And I want you to want to be wanted by me.  I can’t tell you in words.   But my eyes, my eyes can tell you.  My eyes can tell you, without losing the pure raw brutal power of my lusting want, my aching need, my unadulterated desire.  I want you. Just look in my eyes.

Tell me what you Desire. 

Pavini Interviewed: Listen to the Podcast!

A month ago, I was interview by Sexologist Anya de Montigny on her radio show “The O Word.”  I talk about genderqueer awesomesauce, trans and fat sexuality.  It’s kinda long, but if you’d like to listen, here’s Pavini Moray, on the “O” Word. 

 

 

Fucking Science: Erotic Experiments in the Dark

sex_scienceQuestion: What happens erotically, between a group of people in a completely dark, anonymous, anything-goes-but-consent-is-required space?

Hypothesis: Participants will explore their own erotic desires, curiosities, hang ups, and boundaries, and will move beyond who they know themselves to be as erotic beings.

Before HIV, in the 1960’s and 1970’s, gay male bars often had something called a “darkroom” or “blackroom.”  This was a space, in the back of the establishment, that was unlighted and could be used for anonymous sex.  You know, stop in for happy hour on a Friday, order a Bud, go in the back and get a blow job, come back and finish your beer.  Does that sound good to you?  I have always wondered why gay males get a different kind of sexuality than everyone else. Why do they get glory holes, bathhouses, anonymous sex? That’s always felt unfair, and I’ve decided to do something to change that.  It involves my living room.

Today, as I’m writing, I keep glancing in there, wickedly imagining.  Come Friday evening, it will be magically transformed into an erotic pleasure laboratory. Four sexual “scientists,” together with an invited group of people, will participate in an experiment called “Black Velvet.”    

Consider this imaginary scenario, culled from the invitation:

In this Black Velvet space, although there is no light, you will begin to notice the presence of other bodies.   Slowly, as you crawl through the space, you bump gently into a soft, warm presence.  You reach out a hand to touch, and jump slightly as your own erotic energy becomes merged with that of another.  You don’t know who.  You don’t know what that person looks like, their name, where they work, or what bits they have.  All you know is whether you enjoy the energy between you or not.  

If you do, and if they do, you stay and explore being in bodies in the dark together.  If one of you doesn’t enjoy the shared energy, you move away, move their hand away, or whisper “busy.” There is no shame. There is no expectation or obligation.  There is no commitment, other than to the truth of the moment.  

 Consent is always necessary… and it is given by your potential partner choosing to engage with you.  Your boundaries are not negotiable, and indeed the entire group is responsible for creating safer, supported space that welcomes all bodies, genders, sexual identities, and desires.  This group holds as its most profound value that the decision not to engage with someone is a decision to trust our deepest knowing, and is therefore a gift to everyone.

What will happen in this Black Velvet Space?  That’s completely up to you.  You may leave after being deliciously fucked by a hot stranger.  Or, you may explore what it is to be in a space like this and hold your boundaries and not engage at all. Or a thousand other outcomes.  The only requirements for how you explore a space like this is your desire to know yourself better as an erotic being.  

Are you still breathing?  Does this sound intimidating as hell to you?  I know it does to me.  I am really pretty scared about Friday night.  My intention is to open my body in new ways, and I don’t really know what that means or how it will manifest.  What if I go too far beyond my boundary? What if I fuck someone I don’t want to fuck, but they smell and feel so right?  My control issues/needs make it really, really hard to imagine being in a space like Black Velvet, and just surrendering. 

However, I am on fire with conducting erotic experiments.  I am deeply committed to using my body as a pleasure laboratory.  I am ‘all in,’ for maybe the first time in my life, in my ongoing explorations of body, sex, spirit and intimacy.

I’m really quite tired of my erotic limits.  I’m tired of only seeking the kind of sex that connects, builds intimacy, and endures the test of time.  I’m tired of sensation and pleasure being limited by my own narrow capacity. I’m ready to push past the boundaries I think I hold, and find what lies beyond them.Erotic Experiments

How do I know what I am erotically capable of, unless I conduct experiments?  How do I know what I might like unless I try it out? What else is possible for my genitals to feel?  For my hands to learn?  What else can I do with my erotic energy? How can I use the power of my orgasm to make electricity that lights my house? What happens if I turn my bits inside out and stimulate them?  To what edge of beyond trust can I push myself, while still staying connected and compassionate with my heart?

Oh there’s that trust word again.  I will say it is pretty intense, to be on this erotic journey in such a public way. It’s crazy hard sometimes, to claim radical sexuality and pleasure in this queer, fat body.   I am deeply trusting my own process as alchemical. I hope it stands for something that is meaningful to you.  Learning to trust diving into the void of not knowing, and learning to trust that I will emerge, intact feels like my great work.

So what will be the conclusions of the Black Velvet erotic experiment?  Will participants explore their desires, curiosities, hang-ups and boundaries? Will we emerge from the darkness, with deeper and fuller knowledge of our erotic capacities?  And will we be able to make it stick, make it count, make pushing our erotic edges translate into more space in our whole lives?  Or will it just be a cool, I-live-in-the-Bay-Area-and-we-do-weird-sex-shit-like-this-cuz-we-are-so-hip kinda deal?

I do not know.  Participants have agreed to send me their reflections within 48 hours of the event, so there’s my data collection. I will write to you next Monday (are you noticing that posts come out every Monday?  You could *subscribe* if you never want to miss one again!) Next Monday, I will describe the event and my experiences, should you be so interested.  (I’m also teaching an Intimacy Technology class next Monday on trust: please consider attending.)

If you like this post, it would make me deliriously happy if you would consider conducting your own erotic experiment in the next week or so. Post a comment below telling me what will be, or drop me an email and tell me what happened.  I know I’m not the only erotic revolutionary here! 

What might happen on our planet if we build

a critical mass of erotic consciousness? 

My new zine “Sexual Liberation Front” Free Download

Sexual LIberation FrontThis summer, I published my first “product.”  I grew up in Cleveland, Ohio during the 1980’s, when the hardcore punk scene was going strong.  I came up on zines, and have a strong affinity for information being distributed in a sub-culture underground.  This first issue of my zine is a labor of love, and I offer it in spirit of the gift economy: it will not be sold or bartered, ever.

It feels really scary to put a huge piece of my work out into the world, and let go of control over what will happen with it.  But it feels important in service of our collective sexual liberation.  That said, may this delight you, instruct you, challenge you and ultimately serve you.

Sexual Liberation Front: For Queers and those of Marginalized Sexual Identity

Zine Free Download

Please share, print,  and disseminate widely, with credit.

And no pressure, but if you do read it, it would mean a lot to me if you would drop a note and let me know.

My deepest love for all who read.

Spiritual Fat like that.

Fat Buddha loves Emancipating Sexuality

Every year I attend Free Cascadia Witchcamp, which is my heart’s true home.  We gather, in the wilds of Cascadia, to celebrate, make magick, do the work, and evolve our culture.  This year was a particularly powerful year for me, especially in regards to Fat.

First, let me say it was a million degrees all week.  Pretty much all week I spent nekkid, trying to eliminate any additional heat caused by clothing.  Nudity used to be a big edge for me, especially in public spaces.  However, since taking Sexological Bodywork training, it is no longer an issue.  Sometimes I wonder how my fat naked body is perceived, and mostly I just don’t care.  You like?  Go ahead and look.  You don’t like? Don’t look.  Simple.

Our camp structure holds a morning path (class) time, afternoon affinity group time, and evening ritual time.  Every morning I taught path with another wonderful witch on erotic self-expression and performing creative erotic art. Every afternoon, I met with my affinity group.  Affinity groups are small groups based on a topic that group members have affinity around.  These groups are often used as process-based decompression for the intense and rigorous spiritual and social experience one typically has at a witchcamp.

This year, my affinity group convened around fat bodies.  Calling ourselves “Fat Magick,” we began what feels like life-long work in sharing, learning and deepening into the particular mysteries that come from dwelling in a fat body. 

In the deep heat of every afternoon, we gathered in the shade.  As we shared, laughed and cried together, as we made magick together and prayed together, certain threads of experience began to emerge that are the beginnings of a tapestry of sacred and arcane knowings.  We began the conscious creation of a body of work celebrating the Body Fat. There are so many fat deities, that it is surely of no coincidence that our bodies reflect a mystical experience!   

I feel a deep commitment to continuing this work.  I’ve been doing a lot of research on fat + spirit and interesting gleanings are revealing themselves.  Here are two.

A whole bunch of fat goddesses

I especially love the second part of this next article, about the Buddha being onto something, and how ridiculous it would be to put him on a diet.

Spiritually Fat

It was at a different witchcamp, many years ago, that a gorgeous fat priestess of sex spoke words that have forever altered the course of my life.  She said “As a fat person, my sexuality is invisible.”  I have lived into those words these past years.  As you may know, I have made working with fat people so that we may experience sexual liberation a core theme of my work.  Bringing invisible sexuality back to center, seen and validated is another.

I was so struck by the concept of invisible sexuality, and what it means and who gets sexuality and who gets to have their sexuality validated.  Just as the medicine is often the poison, I believe that the antidote to body oppression lies in liberating all bodies from policing.  One of my dear radical friends recently said to me, “As a thin person, I work for fat liberation because I know that I am not free until we are all free.”  I believe a correct medicine is fat magick.

What I am learning as a fat, sexy witch is that I truly need all of the space my body provides in order to do the work and make the magick I am compelled to.  I need the full range of embodiment offered by this fat body, so that I can hold, move, teach, write, fuck and love the way I want during my Earth time. Being fat has helped me learn to be accountable for all of the space I take up.  My fat yearns to be radiant, and every fat cell wishes to glisten like glitter.  And jiggle.  They love to jiggle.

This Wednesday 9/11/13, I will be performing a piece on Spiritual Fat at 510 Feelmore in Oakland  between 7-9 p.m.  I would love to see you there.

I met this person last week at NoLose and in this post they articulate things that I’ve felt all my life, and not been able to get out. Thanks for that.

Big Papa Fa'e

I live in a culture that has declared war with my body. This war is ingrained in every cell of me, has been in every bite of food, every article of clothing, every interaction with another person since as far back as I can remember. I was indoctrinated into it by my parents, teachers, the people on TV, radio, the computer, my friends, and every adult and child I met growing up. I helped to enforce it. Sometimes it still gets the best of me.

I am fat. I have always been fat, and I may always be fat. Every day that I am alive, I encounter cultural messages that tell me that my fat body is ugly, offensive, gross, unhealthy, wrong, a thing that needs corrected. A type of objectification, for sure, though not the typical kind. I — that is my body — is generally an object of…

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Fat fights back! Sexy, fat and pissed.

Mainstream sex experts often take a view that I find problematic, due to the fluff factor.  The “just light some candles and take a bath” and your sex problems will magically resolve” approach.  The “learn these five tips to rejuvenate your sex life with your man” strategy.  The quick fix, simple pill, easy solution.

So, these types of posts, prolific and ubiquitous, are often problematic and irritating, but rarely dangerous and perpetrating of violence.  Unlike the one I am about to deconstruct.

One of my best business practices is to follow other experts in my field, and read and listen to what they are saying.  Often, I learn new things or at least get tasty subject material to chew on.  However, consistently following the posts of the sexpert Dr. Laura Berman, I’ve found myself infuriated.  There’s just enough substance to give her posts merit, but it’s usually awash in the kind of mainstream approach to sexuality that I feel does a huge disservice to those of us seeking an authentic experience of our sexual potential.  And she is everywhere!  This is not the sex education I want for our world!

Yesterday, she published this propaganda about obesity.   Yes, dears, one more example of fat phobia.  It hates on us, tells us that we have higher risk of STD’s, practice unsafe sex, don’t have the self-esteem to ask for condoms/barriers, don’t communicate honestly with our doctors, don’t enjoy sex like skinny “healthy” people do, and so on and on and on.  And without careful reading, it just sounds like more of the party line, good advice, inarguable logic, etc.  The active link in the article is ‘practicing good self-care’ and links to another article of hers about that extols the wonders of exercise for, you guessed it, women.

Fat Women
Fat women fashion… yes!

This weekend I had the deep pleasure of attending the “NoLose” conference, where I saw many people of various sizes, with amazing wit, fashion, brains and sexiness quotient.  It was the first time I was in the company of radical queer fat people, many of whom are female identified, and I felt a place deep inside relax.  The conversations we were having were outside the dominant culture, and looked seriously at the concepts of “health.”  My friend Virgie Tovar was also at the conference, and wrote an awesome piece on fat + health and you can check it out.   I post the values of this non-profit here for your consideration:

 In the activist and empowerment work that we do, we envision a world:

  • that is accessible to fat people and reflective of us.
  • that is without fat discrimination, hatred or prejudice.
  • where fat people are empowered to create positive change in ourselves and in our communities.
  • where beauty, morality, health, humor and fashion are divorced from size and shape and all bodies are celebrated.
  • where fighting fat phobia is seen as integrally linked to other social justice issues such as the women’s movement, anti-racist and anti-imperialist struggles of people of color at home and around the world, queer and transgender movements, class struggle, disability rights movements and more.
  • where all people have a right to basic human rights as well as joy, sensuality and self-determination.
  • and where the diet industry closes up shop as the world sees their products for the oppressive and ineffective scams they are.

Dr. Laura would have you believe that until you change your body to conform with mainstream standards of beauty and health, you will not have the sex life of your dreams.  I stand here as proof that she is wrong.  I stand here for all the times I’ve been told that losing weight would solve my problems.  I stand here bearing witness to the amazing lovers I have had lining up to be with me, the soul-shifting sex I have on a regular basis, and I stand here saying I am worthy of pleasure, no matter what my size.

So fuck you, Dr. Laura.  Fuck your violent and oppressive opinions about people of size and our sexuality. Fuck your body policing, and your certainty that exercise is good for all women, regardless of their body situation.  I encourage you to dig a little deeper into the cultural strata, and find a place to stand that represents sexual freedom for all people, not just those you deem acceptable.

And until you do, I will stand here, with my little blog and my big brain, and call you an oppressor of a sexpert.  I love having sex in my fat body.  I do not engage in riskier behaviors because I’m fat.  My access to birth control and use thereof are not impacted by my weight.  I am honest with my doctor.  I love my fat partner, and the fat sex we have.  I stand here, the pleasure cheerleader for every person who has ever had their sexuality made invisible, whether because they are fat, disabled, survivor, mom, aged, express a different standard of beauty, ill, or otherwise marginalized.  We are all worthy of pleasure.