he is concerned. According to my chakra notes, “The Kundalini (sleeping serpent) lies dormant in most people unless it is activated. It is a very powerful energy that activates all the other chakras as it shoots up.” Oh my! Does that ever descri be what I’ve been going through, and yes, it is definitely an energy I feel shooting up through my being. So, it was dormant there all along and just needed something or someone to trigger it?
For a moment, I am taken with a feeling of melancholy. Why couldn’t it have been David that activated my Kundalini? “Because he has a live-in lover,” a chakra interjects. Good point. Thanks Indigo girl! Thank God Bret didn’t push the activation button. That could have been a real mess. It would be nice if Nimo were able to kindle even a modicum of such desire in me, but I have to face the facts: it’s never going to happen – never ever.
The feeling sparked by Alex is radically different than anything I’ve ever known. It seems so pure, so real, so unconditional – so foreign , I have no words to adequately describe it, but I know it somehow feels spiritual. I fight the urge to simultaneously laugh and cry and squeal my delight. I have never felt so alive, or so womanly. I literally don’t know what to do with myself, b ut I am quite certain that if I remain here writhing, I will surely implode. I determine to thank Alex . Cool hippie guru poet that he is, I’m sure he’ll take the compliment in stride, in the spirit in which it is meant – that of simple thanks.
I wrestle with how exactly to comment on his post , and decide to send a private message, not wanting to make my BandAid inclinations public knowledge. Nor do I wish to offend anyone who is uncomfortable reading about Facebook-induced body-racking orgasms. I take a deep breath, poise my fingers above the keyboard, and begin typi ng a personal communique to Dr. Armstrong .
Chapter Fifteen
11:33am
Claire Nichole Eden
Ok...this is best not shared with the FB masses... but your latest lengthy response on your 'wooden' post just resulted in a physical react ion on this end...... You're kil lin’ me here!!! ... ....And yes, I do mean in every sense, including le petit mort ... ...... Oy!
There! Done. Time to get back to work.
Work? Like that’s ever gonna happen after leaving the most brazen, sexual, personal message of my entire life! What on earth made me do such an idiotic thing? I think twice about my hair - brained antics and go back to the message, frantically looking for a delete button, even though I already know there isn’t one. Good grief. What have I done?
Despite occasionally shaking my head in disbelief at my folly, I still keep an anxious eye on my incoming messages. Every time I see there is a new one , I gasp and momentarily freeze. And every time the message is from someone other than Alex. After about half an hour , I g ive up on the waiting game and head for home. Once there, I open my laptop and while it sorts itself out, I take a moment to go to the garden and pick some summer vegetables for lunch. If I didn’t know better , I would say I am starting to eat healthily – and actually liking it!
I return to the computer with an enormous, colorful salad in hand, having complete ly forgotten about ‘the message’ – t hat is , until I see a little, red notification, small but mighty, making itself known at the top of my Facebook page. My fork stops in the air, mid-bite. I put it back down and slowly, cautiously click the notifications button. It’s from him .
12:26pm
Alexander Armstrong
I just returned from grocery shopping to find this lovely message. Le petit mort? Oy is exactly right. They say the pen is mightier than the sword, but I had NO idea. Glad I made your body blush, Miss Eden, and certainly I'm quite happy to oblige.
Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!
For a moment, I am taken with a feeling of melancholy. Why couldn’t it have been David that activated my Kundalini? “Because he has a live-in lover,” a chakra interjects. Good point. Thanks Indigo girl! Thank God Bret didn’t push the activation button. That could have been a real mess. It would be nice if Nimo were able to kindle even a modicum of such desire in me, but I have to face the facts: it’s never going to happen – never ever.
The feeling sparked by Alex is radically different than anything I’ve ever known. It seems so pure, so real, so unconditional – so foreign , I have no words to adequately describe it, but I know it somehow feels spiritual. I fight the urge to simultaneously laugh and cry and squeal my delight. I have never felt so alive, or so womanly. I literally don’t know what to do with myself, b ut I am quite certain that if I remain here writhing, I will surely implode. I determine to thank Alex . Cool hippie guru poet that he is, I’m sure he’ll take the compliment in stride, in the spirit in which it is meant – that of simple thanks.
I wrestle with how exactly to comment on his post , and decide to send a private message, not wanting to make my BandAid inclinations public knowledge. Nor do I wish to offend anyone who is uncomfortable reading about Facebook-induced body-racking orgasms. I take a deep breath, poise my fingers above the keyboard, and begin typi ng a personal communique to Dr. Armstrong .
Chapter Fifteen
11:33am
Claire Nichole Eden
Ok...this is best not shared with the FB masses... but your latest lengthy response on your 'wooden' post just resulted in a physical react ion on this end...... You're kil lin’ me here!!! ... ....And yes, I do mean in every sense, including le petit mort ... ...... Oy!
There! Done. Time to get back to work.
Work? Like that’s ever gonna happen after leaving the most brazen, sexual, personal message of my entire life! What on earth made me do such an idiotic thing? I think twice about my hair - brained antics and go back to the message, frantically looking for a delete button, even though I already know there isn’t one. Good grief. What have I done?
Despite occasionally shaking my head in disbelief at my folly, I still keep an anxious eye on my incoming messages. Every time I see there is a new one , I gasp and momentarily freeze. And every time the message is from someone other than Alex. After about half an hour , I g ive up on the waiting game and head for home. Once there, I open my laptop and while it sorts itself out, I take a moment to go to the garden and pick some summer vegetables for lunch. If I didn’t know better , I would say I am starting to eat healthily – and actually liking it!
I return to the computer with an enormous, colorful salad in hand, having complete ly forgotten about ‘the message’ – t hat is , until I see a little, red notification, small but mighty, making itself known at the top of my Facebook page. My fork stops in the air, mid-bite. I put it back down and slowly, cautiously click the notifications button. It’s from him .
12:26pm
Alexander Armstrong
I just returned from grocery shopping to find this lovely message. Le petit mort? Oy is exactly right. They say the pen is mightier than the sword, but I had NO idea. Glad I made your body blush, Miss Eden, and certainly I'm quite happy to oblige.
Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!
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