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Sex - Kim Petersen

The Ecstasy of Soul Sex

The soul is the ultimate lover

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Let’s talk about sex. I don’t mean the run-of-the-mill penetrative kind of sex that you’re used to reading about and have probably been practicing for a good portion of your adult life.

I’m talking about unearthly pleasures, sensual indulgences and exquisite peaks that exist within the deeper dimensions of your psyche – essentially, sex without the … erm … sex part.

Soul sex.

Sound weird?

There was a time when the notion of soul sex would have instantly evoked an eyeroll. I would’ve dismissed it as some farfetched concept reserved for the delusional.

So, it is important to clear this up at the onset – I’m not writing this post out of a psychiatric hospital. Promise. I am not delusional, either. But something has occured between the time when I would have found soul sex difficult to fathom to arriving here, in this moment – I encountered somebody significantly.

Someone connected in soul.    

If you stripped away your flesh and blood, what or who do you think you would be? 

Socrates said: “That energy, or soul, is separate from matter and that the universe is made of energy – pure energy.”

Including us.

Take the atom for example – it’s the basic building block for matter. Quantum physics tells us that as we go deeper and deeper into the workings of the atom, we discover that there is nothing there – just energy waves.

It says an atom is actually an invisible force field – a kind of miniature tornado which emits waves of electrical energy.


In the realm of sexual energy, we are talking about a life-force energy that is fundamental to our humanity. It is through our sexual energy that we cultivate a relationship with desire, creativity and connectedness – not only to others but also to ourselves.

It is through our sexual energy that we learn how to own our perfectly flawed and sacred human bodies. But we are more than our human bodies. We are eternal beings experiencing a human life.

The soul is the ultimate lover.

Soul sex is much more than just an intermingling of sexual energy and desire. It is the process of becoming aware of a part of yourself that is deeply connected to another – emotionally, sexually, and spiritually, and then allowing them access to look into your soul.

Soul-merging is the ultimate act of vulnerability.

Making love in soul is the experience of completely opening yourself and surrendering to your partner. It is not unlike participating in a divine soul dance that becomes a fabric of who you are. Once your soul has recognized and united with its counterpart, you can never forget. Even if you wanted to.

This kind of love making doesn’t feel like physical sex, yet it goes beyond any pleasure known in the physical form. It feels as if you are becoming one with all that is – a feeling of complete love, connection and bliss. Perfection.

Soul sex is timeless, spaceless and absolute; it is pure universal bliss.

Merging with your soul counterpart is the definition of true love, energetic healing and intimacy because you are mating with your eternal lover – you are blending with a part of yourself that you’ve known since you came into creation.

This is why there is an element of healing that accompanies this sexual experience. Through fusing in soul with your significant other, you are essentially connecting with the love of source energy. It’s like therapy for the heart and soul.

When you allow someone access to your soul, you are granting them permission to precious places and buried secrets within you. You are allowing them to:

  • See and feel you in soul.
  • Hear your soul voice.
  • Touch, caress and entangle your soul with their own.
  • Sense your smell.
  • Invade and own your heart.
  • Know, taste and excite you in soul.
  • Kiss and make love to your soul.
  • Experience you through intricate and personal pathways.
  • Love you in your entirety. 

Granting this level of access to someone is a gift to each of you, and should be treated with the utmost of respect and privilege at all times. Unfortunately, knowing someone in soul doesn’t always equate with their outer personality and behavior.

The soul is eternally perfect. Humans are beautifully flawed.

A cautionary word.

When you encounter a person and sense their significance to you in soul, it is natural to become excited – but it’s worth stepping back to assess the situation and your soul counterpart in his human personality before investing emotionally, as these divine connections have the ability to trigger all kinds of pain and mayhem. Despite the divinity surrounding the bond.

However, once the connection ignites and you have experienced fusion at the soul level, change is inevitable. This is when you realize that no other relationship or sexual encounter before was ever deep enough. That no other love compared, nor did it quench the thirst for the deep level and transcendental loving that you never knew existed.

Until now.

If handled authentically, true soul sex can only deepen as the connection deepens. It is an endless relationship made for continual discovery, self-growth and exploration; and it will be the purest love you’ve ever had the privilege to experience here on earth. 

If you honor it.

Also published by Sexography

Love on a Train

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Lovers whisper secrets only they two can hear.

“Wouldn’t you rather have a deep, passionate relationship than something that feels more like friendship? Life is too short to live a single moment without passion — especially in your relationship.”

– Tony Robbins

The Ancient Greeks called it Ludus — the feeling of infatuation in the early days of romance. Ah, those sweet moments when your stomach flutters at the sight of new love and every second spent apart feels like internal torture. Falling in love is one of life’s greatest pleasures. After all, it is love that forms the basis of our humanity and influences our lives from the moment we are born. But hands down, the best part of those first stages in a relationship has to be the lust that accompanies our every waking hour.

Like most of us, those curious Ancient Greeks were smitten by love. Their fascination in the devotion department motivated them enough to spend time studying love in all its forms. The Greek God of fertility proved to be the inspiration behind what the Ancient Greeks called Eros — the realm of love encompassing desire, fire and passion.

Now we’re getting somewhere.

Long days filled with intense yearning between bouts of time spent ensnared in erotic flashes of the night before — daydreams of the moments when a thin layer of sweat was all that separated you and your lover. You know what I’m talking about it. Those sensually shaded days where you exist in a constant state of arousal. He is all you can think about; all you want to think about.

The moments when the need to release sexual energy becomes your driving thought are the same moments you are certain you’ve stepped straight out of a scene from Basic Instinct. Minus the ice pick.

Wait — keep the ice pick. You might need it.

Burn, baby, burn.

That statement can be considered somewhat tame when my second husband swept into my life to change everything I thought I knew about passion. Late nights involving lips and tongues, black lace, delicious fingers … rock hard parts between hot wet places.

Lovers whisper secrets only they two can hear. Bodies entangle to become a river; hips move faster than a runaway train. Nothing is forbidden. Long held fantasies become your reality.

The sexual tension between us was intoxicating. Seldom could we refrain from keeping our hands to ourselves when out in public. We used to fuck everywhere — the dark corners in a club; the lady’s bathroom; shopfront doorways; shady parks and front seats of cars. We even did it on the neighbor’s front porch late one night.

Whaaat? I hear you cry. She was the neighbor from hell. This was fun payback.

When you are in the throes of a hedonistic realm where the pursuit of sexual pleasure becomes your primary focus, nothing is taboo. Nothing is off limits. Love doesn’t know limits or boundaries. Love only knows expression.

From the moment Risky Business erupted onto my screen, I wanted to have sex on a train. You remember the scene — hot passionate kisses; locked eyes while having sensual sex in a dimly lit and empty carriage on a fast-moving train.

Exciting. Steamy. Carnal.

Anyone want to take a train ride? After that scene, I am certain trains across the world knew more than just the average commuter. Perhaps this was the driving force behind the exercise to install security cameras on every carriage. Who needs to watch choreographed porn when you can get real-life action on late night train rides?


It was on. The evening arrived and one of the most erotic acts I have ever experienced preceded the train-sex, becoming part of a long-winded evening of foreplay. We were out in a crowded bar listening to a band and enjoying a few drinks. Knee-high boots worn with sheer pantyhose beneath a short skirt doesn’t make for easy access when in public.

He locked his eyes on mine and slipped his hand between my thighs, lightly rubbing me with the back of his fingers before he pulled away and brought his fingers beneath his nose, inhaling. Body heat. Groan. My hormones went into overdrive watching that simple act play out. I blushed beneath the immediate rush of arousal. Someone flag a train; I was in need. Desperate need.

The carriage wasn’t as nearly as dark or as empty as the Risky Business train scene, but business went ahead regardless. How could it not after the above-mentioned prologue?

It was bright; starkly bright and it didn’t take long to figure out we had to maneuver our way around the pantyhose tucked in a high pair of leathers.

He got creative; slipping my panties and hose down until they bunched at the top of my boots before dropping to his knees and crawling up between my legs. He was essentially ensnared between boots, hose and thighs with no way out but onward. Some might call that a pussy-trap. He might have been inclined to agree. Either way, he was hard and I was ready, and he proceeded forth while the train sped west and a few folks lingered in the back of the carriage pretending not to notice.

Risky Business eat your heart out. Somewhat. Because we didn’t manage to reach that slowed-down climatic filming achieved in the movie. I didn’t feel like Rebecca De Mornay — despite the security cameras rolling overhead and particularly when it was over and I came back up for air, spotting cheesy grins flashing from the back of the carriage.


The Ancient Greeks didn’t necessarily think that Eros was always a good thing. They believed this kind of love to be dangerous and likely to burn out quickly unless supported with one of the less superficial loves. I cannot help but agree. Eventually those heated, first stage relationship days tend to ebb into a different vibration — committed love.

Something like what the Ancient Greeks dubbed Pragma. A hallmark of healthy, long-term relationships. Pragma is about giving love — patience, tolerance and compromise — essential elements for a successful long-term relationship.

Still, I believe that passion is a super important component to any relationship. It is that initial burn of lust and desire that serves to fuel the love and begins to form the groundwork of the connection. Passion becomes the foundation upon which intimacy and deep love are born and nurtured, and love is the motivating law of life.

U.S Andersen expresses this perfectly when he said: “The universe dances and sings and buds and blooms and builds. All of life clings to one another, serves one another in a great common purpose. Love pervades all, love is behind all, love is the great goal. Sex is life expressing love!”

Even love on a train. Especially love on a train.

Also published by P.S. I Love You on Medium

It’s a Sex Type Thing

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When I was sixteen, I met a boy. He was a year older than me, a rev-head and kind of cute. He gave me roses and bought me things made of gold, and he was the first boy I slept with. I didn’t hold out for long. Three weeks to be exact. The sex topic was hot on the agenda back then and I was eager to explore.  

About a year beforehand, a girlfriend found an old book and brought it to school. I don’t know where she had unearthed that book. It was a tattered paperback brimming with pornographic stories. None of us had experienced sex, but man, we couldn’t get enough of that book. We’d huddle together during the lunch break and read it aloud, our eyes popping from their sockets with tales of gigantic penises and horny women doing stuff we’d never thought possible. It sure beat the sex-ed classes dished out by our all-girl high school.

That first time is never what you expect it to be. There were no earth-shattering orgasms rocking my world. In fact, there were no orgasms during that five-year relationship – period. I got good at faking it, though. Even thereafter, the all-important climax via penetration eluded me for years. I learned how to master the fake orgasm. Every woman probably does at some point.

Luckily, my first husband was gifted in other areas. Like cunnilingus. I thanked the heavens for that because the rev-head thought going down on a woman was like a Pacman game at an all-you-can-eat pellet buffet. Munch … munch.


How is it that some guys don’t understand the art of cunnilingus? I mean, we’re not walking around with an impenetrable armor between our legs. There are some delicate bits going on down there. Think pressure, but soft and steady, use fingers at the same time and for god’s sake, when a woman is moaning like a breathless goddess, don’t stop and change tactics all of a sudden – you might just interrupt the flow. Oh yeah and keep the sharp ends of your teeth out of it and the hardcore sucking for a lollipop.

I stayed with the rev-head until I was twenty-one. During that time, my single girlfriends were living that life. You know, the one where you work all week and come the weekends, you’re hitting the club scene and partying hard. Occasionally, I’d join them. But rev-head wasn’t into clubbing and he disliked the thought of me venturing out without him. Too many fellas on the horizon, you see.

He wasn’t wrong. My friends were into one-night stands for a while there. The thought intrigued me – great, casual sex with a stranger and no strings attached. Sounded like one of those Jackie Collins novels I’d readily devoured years earlier. Those characters had the BEST sex with strangers. By the time things were over with rev-head, I was determined to fulfill the fantasy. I was going to embark on my first one-nighter.

He was a Croatian guy and a few years older than me. He took me back to his pad and introduced me to his bedroom before introducing me to the biggest penis I’d ever seen. Of course, at the time I’d only one other to compare it to. I swear, he almost broke me with that thing. It was as thick as a tree trunk and just as hard. He was speeding too. Which meant, the end was nowhere in sight. For him. It was a different story for me, though. Round one and I was out, hobbling back home as the sun began to rise.

He called me a few days later, and a few times again after that wanting to see me. Umm… since when did a one-nighter turn into more? That rarely happened in a J.C. novel. I don’t even know how he got my number. Besides, one round with what he was packing was more than enough.

Fast forward twelve years and divorced, I was ready to try another one-nighter. The driving thought was that my now husband was completely doing my head in and seemed to have difficulty deciding if he wanted me or not. Well, let’s rephrase that – he wanted me, just on his terms, and his terms meant he could come and go as he pleased … and perhaps fuck other women in between those bouts of silence when he was “emotionally torn about what to do”. Poor baby. So, I eventually decided to take a page out of his book and hook up with someone.

Small towns. Everyone knew my husband in that town. He was one of those guys – you know, the suave, confident type that had no trouble picking up women and systematically made his way through half of the town. Of course, I had no idea of his reputation when our paths crossed. How could I? I was a single mother that rarely left the house. It was when my folks happened to be visiting from out of town and I ventured out with some friends one Saturday night that I met him. And no, I didn’t go home with him that night. Although, he tried very hard to persuade me otherwise.

The point is, when I went out with the intention to hook up with someone, I ended up with a sweet man that knew my beau. Yeah. He had a friend too. No, I’m not about to tell you I had a threesome. His friend was a fireman and hooked up with my girlfriend. Those two didn’t waste any time. They made for the bedroom as soon as we arrived at their place, leaving me with my guy and a whole bunch of “what the hell am I doing here?” thoughts racing through my head.

He didn’t push it, so we hung out and talked for a while before eventually fooling around a bit. That’s when it got awkward. The moment he entered me I started to cry. Say what? I know, right. Things didn’t stay too hard after that. The fire had fizzled beneath my steady stream of tears. I can’t imagine how he felt, other than it being an epic fail. I guess I’m not cut out to be a J.C. character after all.

End of one-nighters for me.

So, I pull on my clothes with thoughts of wanting to get the fuck out of that house as soon as possible. I barge into the bedroom where my girlfriend was sprawled on the bed – legs wide, fireman bottom up, face buried deep between her thighs. Remember what I said about not stopping when you’re on the magic roll in the cunnilingus department?

My girlfriend wanted to kill me. Still, I’d interrupted their moment and despite her efforts to usher me away, I wasn’t budging. She had the car, I needed to leave. We left. But not before she demanded that he call her. He didn’t.

I ran into that sweet guy a couple of months later and he gave me a big hug. I was out with my husband. By that time, he’d come to his senses and realized that real love doesn’t show up every so often, and that sex with someone you love is SO much better than the fleeting exchanges between strangers. And finally, after years of wondering if it was possible, I’d discovered that earth-shattering orgasms can be achieved via penetration. And it blew my mind, among other things.   

Heartbeat – A Woman’s Right


Outrage. Annihilation. Protest. Eradication.

Hate me.

I have exercised my rights as a woman to make decisions concerning my body, my health, the quality of my life and that of my family. I have opted to terminate a pregnancy. Twice.

Did you know that it is estimated that one in four pregnancies worldwide end in an abortion every year? That means the need for this basic healthcare is crucial for millions of girls and women across the world, and yet, access to safe and legal abortion services is far from guaranteed for those who may be in need of such services.

Are you cringing yet?

I get it, I really do – abortion falls under the taboo topic for many people. Gets them all fidgety and uncomfortable-like. I wonder if those are the same folks that squirm when confronted with stuff like gay and lesbian rights, gender equality or racism. Okay, maybe I actually don’t get the cringing…

I don’t tend to watch the news either. At all. This can quite possibly be considered ludicrous behavior in this day and age, but it is true. I have deliberately chosen to not keep up-to-date and informed on the latest catastrophes and negative events constantly circulating in the world, and I have survived just fine for twelve years without it.

I’m a firm believer in choosing what I allow into my experience. When I watch something that is disturbing, I’m inviting the essence of that into my inner-world – my sacred sanctuary. For instance, it affects me deeply when I witness the hate, suffering, violence and war infecting the earth. And mostly, I want to feel good as much as I can, so I try to avoid whatever brings discord. That might be considered selfish on my part, but sometimes we need to be a little selfish in order to protect ourselves.

I didn’t need to hear the newsflash about the girl that was dismembered and stuffed into a suitcase. And I definitely didn’t need to know about the outrageously absurd “Heartbeat” abortion laws denouncing women’s rights. But some things don’t slip past my radar. Unfortunately.

The Heartbeat abortion law effectively outlaws the procedure after six weeks of pregnancy. Pam Belluck from The New York Times, “These so-called “Heartbeat” laws ban abortion after the point when a fetal heartbeat can be detected. This often occurs as early as six weeks into a pregnancy, when an ultrasound may be able to detect the pulsing of what will become the fetus’s heart.”

At first, I thought it might be a sick joke played out by some over-privileged, chauvinistic male politician with a mundane haircut and a nose like a snout. Turned out, I was wrong (at least, on some counts). I mean, six weeks? There is actually no heart to beat in a six-week embryo. A tiny cluster of cells and pulsing tissue doesn’t constitute a heart.

Who actually knows they’re pregnant before the six-week marker for certain, anyway?

A lot of pregnancy tests fail to pick up on the elevated HGH (human growth hormone) levels in the system that early on – and trust me I know; I’ve been pregnant eleven times. Yep, you could say I used to be a very fertile woman. All I’d have to do is flutter some dark bedroom eyes toward my partner and bam – there was some funky, cell-clustering, tissue-pulsing action going on, and I’m not talking about the orgasmic variety either. That part happened prior to the big bang.

The same isn’t true these days because I exercised another of my human rights and chose to undergo an endometrial ablation – a surgical procedure that destroys the lining in the uterus, and therefore I can no longer become pregnant. I killed cells and living tissue; is that illegal too?

Sexual and reproductive rights mean we should be able to make our own decisions about our own bodies. Yet all over the world many of us are persecuted for making our own choices and many more are prevented from making any choices at all. Last time I checked, we weren’t living in the Stone Age. Surely time is not spiraling in the other direction toward a primitive ethos hanging between the legs of cowering cowards? Haven’t women suffered enough beneath misogynist perspectives designed to appease self-gratifying ambitions to exert dominance over us?

Women and girls continue to suffer at the blunt end of an archaic bludgeon in many ways and in so many countries across the world. But it is delusional to think that preventing us from accessing an abortion does not mean we will stop needing one. Attempts to ban or restrict abortions will accomplish nothing but to force people to seek unsafe alternatives.

I have given birth to five healthy babies, lost four more through miscarriage, and chosen to abort two pregnancies. That is a freedom of choice I rightly own as a woman and a human being; a freedom born to me, and that right shouldn’t have to be entrusted to or dictated by any government or religious deity.

Enduring a miscarriage is difficult; I have experienced the loss, heartache and the emotional pain that accompanies miscarriage. It stays with you for a long time. During the aftermath, you battle wretched feelings of failure and inadequacy, and you wonder if that somehow you did something wrong, that you deserved to lose the pregnancy. But if anyone assumes that choosing to undergo an abortion is any less difficult than a naturally occurring abortion, than they would be a mistaken.

The fact is, choosing to abort a pregnancy does not come lightly; it does not come without first dredging into your soul and searching your heart; and it does not come without consequences. It has seen me plunge into the depths of depression and despair that was so dark, I couldn’t see a pin-drop of light for the longest of times.

So, I ask, do you think a decision like that is taken with a grain of salt? That an experience like that is easily forgotten?

For every woman and girl that chooses to have an abortion, I can almost guarantee the same holds true for each of them. We don’t need to be judged for our choices; we already do that enough for ourselves. We don’t need anyone to make us feel ostracized or guilty either; we’ve got that covered too. And we don’t need to be forced to sneak around to find dirty backstreet clinics run by a sleazy guy with a rusty hook and risk our lives in order to exercise a right that belongs to us.

I am not necessarily a feminist activist. I don’t participate in outrage culture. Hell, I don’t even watch the news. But I am woman, and every woman knows how it feels to be a woman in today’s world; every woman knows the struggles we face as women, and the lack of equality that still lingers. Sometimes, some us have to speak up.

Taking away our rights and personal choices as women is wrong. It’s just wrong.

The Truth about Love, Sexuality & Creativity

“It is passion, more passion and that we need. The moralist who bans passion is not of our time; his place these many years is with the dead. For we know what happens in a world when those who ban passion have triumphed. When love is suppressed, hate takes place. It is passion and ever more passion that we need if we are to undo the work of hate.”

~    Havelock Ellis


Photo by Josh Felise on Unsplash


I used to be a little girl with a little room filled with nothing particularly girly. There were no pink mermaid curtains draping the windows nor were there white frills adorning the bed covers. I loved climbing trees, riding bikes and erecting forts on top of the carport roof with my younger brother. Wrestling matches were fun too, till one of us was hurt enough to scream blue murder. I’ll be honest, a lot of time that person was my brother. Those were the times when the fun turned sour and I shot dagger-eyes and mouthed terrible things that made him go crying to our mother.

Tsk. Mamma’s boy.

Oh, brothers! There’s a whole lot to say about growing up with a little brother shadowing your every move. Almost three years separate my brother and me, and once upon a time he used to be smaller than me. But you know what? His lack of height had never stood in the way of his ingrained sense of protectiveness for me. He was loyal and courageous, and his love was fierce. I had seen that kid take on the meanest beefcakes in the name of love for me, and I always had his back too.

Although I would not have dreamed of admitting it at the time, my brother was my best friend, and for the most part, I adored hanging out with him. We spent hours creating new adventures and exploring uncharted territory as children. But sometimes, I had to retreat to a place of my own and turn my back on his pouting lips to leave him to his Matchbox cars. I had to shut the door to our room and delve into a world where he was not welcome or permitted. It was the delicate world of dolls.

Yes, dolls. Barbie dolls to be exact. I kept a bag beneath my bed filled with loads of Barbie dolls, one Ken doll, an assortment of accessories, and the biggest kicker of all – a Michael Jackson doll.

Every now and then, I needed to explore the soft feminine urges of the little girl I was and unleash my imagination with a focus on love. Romantic love. You know, the kind of love that springs from your fluttering heart and inevitably results in the happily-ever-after? It is the type of love that captures your breath and steals your soul. It wraps around every cell in your body till you can’t imagine a future without that person.

When you think about it, it is not so unusual that we begin to probe and delve into the beautiful mystery of love from such a young age, because it is love that governs your greater-self, your deeper-self. It is the part of you that connects you to all of creation, and this isn’t something you can ever know intellectually; you can only feel and be aware of it.

Our view of the world is usually less tainted as children. Those magical years when our imagination knows no restrictions are also the years when our memories are the strongest, and our perceptions are most pure. Somehow, we innately realize the knowledge that we are more than the flesh and blood peering back at us when we gaze into the mirror; we know that it is love from which we were born, and love that builds our whole existence.

Then time kicks in. The years pass and we settle into the dense 3D reality of our physical existence. We’re bombarded with societal rules and restrictions, beliefs and religions, fear, hate and worldwide threats breeding the rancid contempt in the bellies of our leaders and spilling into the population. It is greed, materialism, brutality and murder, and the ever-present outcries of injustice constantly influencing and informing our worldview.

The veil thickens and the invisible barriers are firmly placed around our lives, leading to those moments when we forget who we really are. They are the same moments we get to choose if want to continue living beneath the cloak of ignorance or embark on a journey back to the real stuff.

From time to time the curtain will lift to reveal a glimpse of the eternal source gracing all that is. It’s in those moments when you gaze from a mountain peak and your being soars with the beauty filling your essence; or those silent times when your soul lifts higher and you’re encapsulated with a sense of unconditional love; or even a simple gesture from a stranger that touches your heart in a way you hadn’t expected. However, most of all, it’s in the relationships we experience with other people.

In her book, A Return to Love, Marianne Williamson says, “In every relationship, in every moment, we teach each other love or fear.”

It is in demonstrating love toward others that we learn how to love more deeply. In exhibiting fear, we learn to be more frightened of life.

There exists one underlying force that connects us through our entire life. Despite the negative circumstances I mentioned above, humanity strives toward that feeling whether we realize it or not. It forms the basis in each one of our thoughts, interactions and tasks, it informs the words we utter and the way in which we see ourselves – Love.

Bold, fearless, glorious love.

It is love that forms the groundwork of most of our literature, art, music and drama, and love that has given birth to the endless inhibitions that humanity imposes on a false attitude toward sexuality – the most important expression of mankind. Sex is really life expressing love.

Love or fear?

You choose.

“In this relation between a man and a woman, in the sexual act, is expressed the complete physical, psychic, and spiritual hunger of being for another. No other activity or expression of mankind provides such a total outlet for love as the sex act.”

~ U.S Andersen.

When contemplating that statement, it’s easy to recognize how little sex is understood, and how abused, particularly when we consider how readily available sex has become in our virtual worlds. We live in an age where voyeuristic perversions are fostered by the exploitation of sex. The overexposure of sex has had a significant impact on changes in our sexual behaviors and continues to influence our younger generations.

At the other end of the spectrum we face the age-old taboos and condemnation surrounding the sex act. This is when people get touchy and uncomfortable about sex, but how could such a natural and wondrous part of being human become saddled with shame, ridicule and immoral ordinance?

When love is present, there is no such thing.

Love is the recognition of our true selves – the motivation for unity and the desire for fusion. It’s no wonder our stories are brimming with tales about love and romance. Even those authors who claim not to write romance are really writing some of the greatest love stories of all because it is love that flows from them and into their words; and love and passion, fueled with imagination, that embodies their creativity.

I believe every human is a creative. Every human can manifest and love; every being is ultimately cut from the same divine cloth. It’s the golden threads that weave your heart and soul together and bond you with the universal energy – that brilliant light shining resiliently from behind every negative thought and experience that lets you know you are loved.

Love and creativity are one and the same. Love is the source of creativity.

Through all our experiences – the good and the bad – there is one profound and complicated sentiment that remains a universal thirst. One element is instinctual to our nature that is continuously streaming through the veil that blinds us from the truth. It is the invisible link driving us to a common basis – love and sexuality.

When I was a little girl, my dolls fell in love in the stories I created for them. Now that I’m a woman, my characters fall in love through the stories I create for them. I fall in love every day through story, my beautiful interactions with people, sacred soul connections I cherish, gratitude and the simple pleasures of life.

Love is more than a word on a page or a choice; love is fundamental to being human, and you cannot evolve, thrive and appreciate without it.

It is through our divinity that we are created by the source of love. It is through our humanity we learn how to express, give and receive love in our physicality.

When we look past the taboos, the abuse, and the exploitation of sex, and nestle down and really search ourselves within, we can acknowledge and celebrate the magnificence of sexuality and all its forms of expression. In his wonderful book Three Magic Words, U.S. Andersen articulates this perfectly when he states, “The end of the sex act is not procreation – it is the expression of love!”

Free yourself. Love yourself. Express yourself.