warrior woman rising

A Guide to Being a Whore and a Hedonist and Other Pretty Things a Girl Can Become.

 

“I cannot live without pleasure. It is my oxygen — though I must also have regular oxygen. Our existence is but an eyeblink. Why, then, should a man not chase down his passions, wrestle them to the dirt, and ride them like ostriches? He should, and I have.” ~ George Meyer

My life will always be lived in full expression because I am not guaranteed reincarnations and other lives on other planes. I cherish this one narrow, insufficient and oh-so-vulnerable life that I have been given and so I live.

The good women say: Spend your life slowly with wisdom; conserve it, store it for your children, your lovers, your husbands. I gorge myself on mine. So they say scandalous things, like Don’t be greedy; if you eat your life too quickly with a spoon too big for you, you will choke and die from your own consumption.

I am old and unashamed, so I do not listen.

I am too old for conventional marriage, way too old for just one lover, too old to be subjected to boring conversations and the allure of the 2.5 life.

I am too old to give myself to lacking pleasures, sex in the dark, and other frightening things that insecure lovers do.

Too old not to drain and lick my wine glass of life like a savage and still shout, “More wine, more wine.”

I am old, so I hoard my pleasures.

I am not one for counterfeit pleasure. The kind bought in dark alleys that make you dizzy and intoxicated and need to be thrown up the next morning. I am naked dancing under the stars, legs wide open with a vagina too deep for drowning undeserving lovers. They dismiss me because they say I must be mad. “A woman her age acting a fool.”

They are suspicious of my drunkenness, afraid of the sober intoxication of a woman who refuses to show restraint or act her age.

I do not listen. I am old and wise, and I have nine times to live and nine times to die. If I cannot live out all my lives, who will foster all my orphaned selves? So I hurry up and love myself quickly because what do you know, they were right, the world is always about to end, and you, darling, must love your life quickly, fiercely and without restraint.

They became you and you became me. You looked through dimmed windows at the snake unafraid to uncoil itself in the light. You pointed and laughed, and you said, “How wrong, how wrong, a woman must learn her place.” You were always afraid, so I forgive you. You have been giving pleasures in the dark, suffering under the illusion that it is a bad omen to be intoxicated in broad daylight.

They said that for a woman to chase down her passions, wrestle them to the dirt, and ride them like ostriches is an abomination that can only equal being struck by lightning with no rain clouds in sight. So you hid and retreated, you traded in artificial pleasures for a piece of yourself, gave pieces of the woman to experiences that did not deserve her.

Then you came to me because even in my madness you envied my freedom. You came in the dark to make me your witch doctor, asked me to throw the bones and answer your complicated questions. You wanted to know just how free a woman could become and how much that freedom would cost her. I had no sage wisdom and no bones to throw, so I found it easier to teach you how to be a rebel and a bitch.

How to be a hedonist and a whore:

First, become a madman. Rip off the masks and go naked into the streets. Allow the sun to touch your skin, allow the scorching heat to burn off the false skin until you develop new skin that loves the sun.

Khalil Gibran says you will be inflamed with love for the sun, and you will want your masks no more. The sage also says, “There is both freedom and safety in madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.”

Then become a witch and a demon, and accept no other labels. Practice black magic. Dance, whisper to yourself sacred incantations, and be not afraid of trance, that ancient dance of transcendence. Let your kundalini uncoil and flow like that deceptive snake in the Garden of Eden that first gave man the right to pleasure and choice.

They stripped you of your tittle as priestess and forbade you to worship yourself. Do not apologize for the magic you weave, do not compromise yourself to be included in their beliefs of fear filled with the yang energy and lacking balance.

Choose for yourself a God of contradiction full of many flaws.

Cultivate in yourself a beauty that shall never offend itself.

Even after you have walked many days on this earth and your feet wax tired and your body decays and flesh shows a vulnerability for the grave, always have a spirit young enough to honor the hedonist and the whore.

Birth also daughters who are whores, sluts, witches, bitches, hedonists, voluptuaries and sybarites.

The good woman must die.

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khutsafalokasaleKhutsafalo Kasale is a service yogini, a writer, an activist, an African patriot from Botswana, and a lover of all things Art and Culture. As a service yogini, she dedicates her time teaching Yoga to those who desperately need it but cannot afford it, at orphanages, psychiatric hospitals and community centers. She dreams of writing a manual for the dead some day. You can connect with Khutsafalo via her website.

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