Wide horizons capture my soul, the endless blues of Greek seas, and the navy grey silhouettes of mountains at dusk. There’s a silent vastness that allows my insignificance, and I’m grateful for that.

I’m a natural rolling stone. Yet age and fear keep me grounded in one place more often. When I can’t see a way out I feel constrained.

I’m impressed by boldness in declarations of sexual interest. Something in me perks up at the audacity of desire. I don’t necessarily want to be responsible for fulfilling it, but there’s something about the bare exposé of longing that I find exciting. And a contrast to my flickering tentativeness. From the young taxi driver who asked if I’d like to see his cock, to the older man who, after lunch, told me he wanted to fuck my brains out, to the blond tarot reader who asked me to go home with him in Mexico. My yes hides behind my shoulder blades in the propriety of no, yet secretly I’m impressed. And sometimes I say yes, not necessarily to the request, but to their audacity and my curiosity.

I always wanted an interesting life. So I’ve gone in search, changing countries, jobs and partners. So what if I’ve been running from the back streets of Bolton? There was little to stay for. The grass and the rice fields have been greener. The world has offered riches beyond imagining. Don’t be dismissed by pious cliches.

I look like I’m too possessive to be in a thruple. I haven’t had enough personal attention to not feel the threat of sharing. Yet I’ve been the third person with a couple. It was much easier to be in the role of the pleasure bringer rather than the thwarted primary. And I could leave when I wanted.

Slow, restful oral sex not aiming for orgasm becomes a pleasurable meditation. Lost between thighs, the person doing it can enjoy the feelings in their mouth and drop back into themselves and sensation. With no performance objective of making someone come or trying to be affimed, everyone can relax. Pleasure can move in waves, dropping into presence and timelessness. Without pressure to climax there’s the possibility of pauses and expanding states of relaxed arousal rather than peak and drop. The distinction between giving or receiving melts away.

The body is a conduit to wisdom, pleasure and sensation. How do you know when you’re relaxed, aroused, satiated, at peace, lacking, excited or full? Our hearts and erotic psyches give us feelings, emotions and ideas, the body grounds them.

Sexuality is complex, and unconscious influences are at play, an inner vying for pleasure, permission & love. I dislike the term ‘spice up your sex life’ intensely; as if a new pair of pants or a packet of pills is all you need. While they may be fun, and helpful too, having sexual life that’s satisfying, supportive and permissive isn’t so easily bought.

If I thought too much about what I don’t allow myself to miss, or what I haven’t had that I’ve wanted, what I’ve chosen might be ash. The samsara of chasing pleasure while maintaining privilege feels compelling, yet is impermanently satisfying. Isn’t it poignant to be awed by how life turns out, while sadness hovers at the edges about what didn’t?

Ikigai is mid point where what we can offer, what we love, what the world needs, what we’re good at, and what we can get paid for meet. The Sex Lectures came out of this concept, creating an accessible and acceptable way to learn about possibilities for varied sexual expression. I ponder now what the world needs that I can offer? I sense it’s connection. In our increasingly fragmenting society of isolating individualism, meeting trusted companions and allies who look out for each other is precious. In the absence of reliable family, friends who offer support, and who witness our difficult and joyful moments encourage us and rein in our self-destructive tendencies. Knowing who we can rely on, and who loves us matters. Experiencing that, however briefly, fills enough of our hope cup up.

A clairvoyant told me I’d publish two books in my lifetime. A soul reader said I had to fulfil my potential. Inspiring as hearing those were, both haunt me. Distractions feel pressing. While I say I want to spend time on pitching a book, the daily grind of how to present as a functioning person in the world, stay connected, and pay overheads, pull my attention. It might seem a nice Greek problem to have right now yet finding the physical and mental space to focus purely on that potential seems elusive.

I feel rueful in a room of happy couples. It’s a rare event as I move in less traditional worlds where attachment is more troubled. While I know it’s not always easy to maintain relationships, the acknowledgment of what is absent or may be yet possible brings sorrow as well as admiration.

I hate being told what to do. Being restricted from something my heart would love is painfully frustrating. Meeting new legal obstacles shows me how I’m still fighting for my outcomes, my vision, my way of creating things. My anti-authoritarian wants to run to illegality, contradicting the charming, disarming strategies of a better behaved me who doesn’t want to get fined. Swimming upstream will be counterproductive, so I need to follow where the current flows.

Permission to be ourselves - integrated, curious and free - requires self-awareness as well as self-interest;  Embodiment, inspiration, sexual intelligence, ruthlessness and communication are key ingredients. I’m not sure where that leaves romance, attraction and chemistry which ask us to temporarily ignore the lot.

I’ve long had a fantasy of a relationship being like a little tropical island in a warm sea. Where the main relationship lives with love, easiness and constancy, in a hut surrounded by palm trees, with a big hammock for two. A relationship that allows for one or the other to swim off now and then, to a workshop, to an old lover or friend, to allow for what’s been before to remain important. With no threat, encompassing acceptance of lives and intimacy lived before, intimacy that has mattered and been supportive. There’s a constancy to the island centre that allows peaceful time alone, and delight in knowing the anchor lover will return.

I lived in Albania during the pandemic. Knowing no one for 90 days was freeing until I was assaulted on an empty beach. Screaming and fighting saved me; I wouldn’t shut up, and the guy eventually gave up. Besides his gold-crowned teeth, the weirdest feeling I remember was how he passed me my keys and boots, politely helping after he’d thrust his hand in my knickers. Unbelievable. I daren’t imagine what would have happened if I’d frozen instead.

Difficult relationships, in a perverse way, can teach us about healthy ones. So in that sense, it's never a failure when a challenging relationship ends. While easy to mourn the good we once had, the loss of love and a dream, we become free from an intolerable future. Recognising what we need and couldn't possibly receive eventually stops us from going back to the same wastelands looking for honey.

The vastness of what I’ve no clue about makes me chuckle, and offsets my smart ass opinions.

Last week in dharma class, we were reminded that the chances of existing in this human form take the odds of a deep-sea turtle coming up from the bottom of a fathomless, expansive ocean once in a thousand years to surface through a random floating rubber ring. With that in mind, let me be total today, letting go of minor vexations to see the miracle of the other humans who also made those turtle odds.

My planning brain loves the future. When I get there, it’s exhausting what I thought I was capable of.