I must admit I am not writing this from a deep inner fulfilment and from having arrived to being at peace with myself and with the world. I am writing from the space of inner quest for good things in life — love and light, joy and harmony, community and connectedness, inner meaning and outer purpose.

I rarely meet people that puzzle me and dazzle me in an enchanting way, leaving me simultaneously with the feeling of standing on a well-known ground, at home. And when that happens with a woman, it’s irresistibly enticing.

Now, the gifts that I have — my primal instincts and basic intuition, my magic hands and story-teller’s soul — draw me towards contents that reflect my soul’s yearnings. Long time ago I learned from a shaman, it doesn’t take years to get to know people; if you’re able to connect through the abdomen you get to know them in the twinkling of an eye.

It is  easy to get someone’s  phone number,  date of birth,  favorite dish or their first pet’s name, all you need to do is ask. What I feel, however, does not fit in the realm of the rational or common. Thus it’s prone to flaw and self-deluding subjectivity, true … But I learned that following my intuition always lead me to good places in time and space — and in relationships, of whatever sort they were — even if later on my initial judgement proved to have been flawed with dire fallacies.

I can only see myself and the world in the eyes of a “beloved” that transcends definitions. There’s no defintion, no framework, no declaration for “belowed”. It’s just the gusto of me being myself and allowing her to be herself … and nurturing the connection …

To write all of this takes a muse. Ok, maybe the “muse” that I am talking about is mostly the construct of my imagination, but maybe she can also feel the part of it that’s real, genuine?

My soul is a romantic one. I don’t retreat from admitting sweet self-fooling when I smell the lovely scent of adventurous possibility. There’s a gulf of difference between expectation of fixed, preconcieved, selfish mental constructs, and expectation of free flowing, ongoingly created, mutual realities.

Letting go of control is considered by some as the culmination of sensuality, but controlling the letting go comes with an important advantage — no hangovers, no huff, no regrets. When I thoroughly enjoy what I am experiencing at a certain moment the need to meet any expectations that I and my society force upon me simply dissipates. That’s freedom.