I love a good holiday.
I just finished celebrating Purim, a Jewish holiday during which we ecstatically celebrate being alive. It is a holiday of joy, and as such, I have been absorbing the lessons of my teachers. They have been sending daily text reminders to try out being silly, irreverent, playful, and loud so that we may shed old expectations and release the need to be serious.
The holiday of Purim is an invitation to the senses. We dress up in silly costumes that delight the eyes, we sing for Queen Esther and scream at King Haman, we hug and dance and applaud for the megillah readers, and we eat triangular jam-filled cookies…that are shaped like vulvas.
(I’m not kidding. Not only do we sing for Queen Esther, but afterwards, we all eat her pussy.)
*
Whole-body joy and humor are foundational to Jewish spiritual practices, and as this cookie-connection demonstrates, so is sexual joy.
It took me two decades to get to experience expansive sexual joy—that is, the gift of feeling fully present inside my body—but not for any lack of trying on my spouse’s part. From the time I was nineteen until I turned forty, I experienced pelvic floor dysfunction, chronic bladder pain, and antibiotic-induced chronic yeast infections. I had my bladder distended four times and a planned c-section (so that my bladder wouldn’t lose all control,) which were the most painful experiences of my life. At twenty-five years old, I was told that I had the bladder of a seventy-five year old. I spent a whole year on Ditropan, which is what they advertise during Wheel of Fortune.
Sex with my spouse, Thorin*, was amazing at times, if I was in a rare window of relief. More often than not though, sex was frustrating since I was either itchy or in pain. Worse yet, I thought about sex all the time, but I couldn’t have the presence of mind to fully enjoy it.
During those same two decades, as a result of my deep yearning for healing, I dove into my yoga practice to manage my anxiety and depression. This led me to become a yoga teacher as well as a personal trainer and health coach. I learned how bodies work—mine in particular—which kind of movement practices resonated the most, which foods best supported my emotions, how much sleep I needed. I met with physical therapists, acupuncturists, naturopaths, Ayurvedic doctors, chiropractors, and more. I learned lessons from each, but one in particular cured me: that of a year-long intensive Pelvic Floor Manual therapy treatment provided by a physical therapist. She broke up years of accumulated scar tissue from my three surgeries, taught me pelvic floor exercises to help me relax my muscles, and guided me on how to become aware of my nervous system.
At age forty, I suddenly felt my body whole, for the first time in my adult life.
I felt pain-free and present.
And horny as hell.
*
Even in the Before Years, sex was pleasurable. Thorin is a gentle and patient man who was the one who taught me that sex can entail more than his penis inside my vagina. However, now I wanted to have sex with him all the time. I wanted to have sex with myself. I wanted to have sex with other people. In particular: I wanted to explore my long-standing (since the seventh grade) sapphic fantasies.
My spouse and I had discussed opening our relationship early on, but neither of us ever felt the desire to do it. Suddenly, at age forty, I had the desire.
That very same year, I started dating sapphic beauties of all genders, and when I did, I became more wet than ever.
For the lovelies I met on OkCupid.
For my spouse.
For the very experience of being alive inside my body.
I felt expansive sexual joy. Seven years later, I still do.
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The sexual joy I experience now isn’t always rooted in orgasmic, naked physical romping. (Though I do love a good romping!) The sexual joy I experience now is sensory-based, mindful, and journey-focused.
It’s also silly, irreverent, playful, and loud.
I delight in the sight of Anahit’s large, brown nipple. I feel my own pink nipple harden at the song Nadya sends me. (“The Art of Letting Go” by Fia.) I taste Thorin’s full lips.
I smell my partners’ hair. I feel my body close to theirs. I feel their breath. I hold their quaking bodies in my hands. I listen to them sigh and scream.
I feel my own body awaken.
And in doing so, I ecstatically celebrate my decades-long healing journey back to joy.
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Audre Lorde wrote, “Once we recognize what it is we are feeling, once we recognize we can feel deeply, love deeply, can feel joy, then we will demand that all parts of our lives produce that kind of joy.”
Joy starts in feeling, and as such, it is transmuted through the senses: in sight, in sound, in scent, in taste, in touch. In the imaginative and the expansive. In the comfort of personal boundaries that we have the right to demarcate. In how we touch our boundaries against the boundaries of others, and the dances that we share, and the mutual respect and clear communication required to twirl in sync with each other’s light.
Yes, there will be days—and sometimes decades—disappointment, pain, sadness, and frustration. It’s life after all. (Thorin, my partners, and I navigate times of jealousy, exhaustion, and more. Personally, I have had partners end things abruptly, or even worse, ghost on me. Polyamory is not all roses, of course.)
And the story of the holiday of Purim is not a pretty one—it’s full of lies, death threats, and gory executions, not to mention female suppression and, of course, anti-Semitism.
Even with the weight of this not-pretty story, my people declare that we have a right to joy. Once upon a time, we conquered the most difficult times, and we are still here to tell the tale.
And so, I invite you to embody this notion: we have a right to a joyful life, and if we so desire it, we have a right to expansive sexual joy.
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An Invitation to Lean into Sexual Joy
Before you begin, find a comfortable space to practice. You can sit up straight or recline. If you feel like it, perhaps you might strip down naked. If you do not have access to a named sense or body part, you can either skip the section or read the invitation and work with your imagination. As with all mindfulness practices, do what feels right for your body.
- Start with your own body in this present moment. As you read, pause at the end of each line so that you can close your eyes and breathe in and out deeply three times. Try it now.
- Focus your attention on your sense of sight. Allow your gaze to settle on a part of your own body—your fingers or your thighs or your feet. Take in the beauty of yourself. Notice the muscles, bones, scars, wrinkles, and creases. Notice the color of your skin, how it varies depending on the cast of light. If you are able to, wiggle and stretch. Expand and contract. Notice the dance of your body as you move. Close your eyes and breathe.
- Next focus your attention on your sense of hearing. Take a slow deep breath through your nose and with your mouth closed. Listen to how the inhale and exhale might replicate the sounds of the ocean. Do this a few times. Then, if you are able to, clap your hands. Stomp your feet. Audibly sigh or moan or even scream. Release. Close your eyes and breathe.
- Now focus on your senses of taste and smell, which are intimately connected. Open and close your jaw. Stick out your tongue. Lick your lips. Lift your arm to your face, and breathe in your own scent. Bring the back of your hand to your mouth, and give yourself a kiss. Lick your own skin. Do this a few times on each hand. Savor the scent and taste of your body. Close your eyes and breathe.
- Finally, focus on your sense of touch. Start to massage your thighs, moving from the crease of your hips down towards your knees and your feet, if you are able. Focus your attention on your arms and your shoulders. Rub your own neck. Massage your jaw with your fingertips. Press your index finger into the center of your forehead and then onto the crown of your head. Close your eyes and breathe.
- In what ways has your body provided you with access to pleasure? In what ways has it struggled, perhaps with illness, accident, or injury? How do you feel about your body’s sexual vibrations? What lessons are you grateful for? What old stories are you wanting to release? What new stories are you wanting to invite in? What does sexual joy look like to you? Close your eyes and breathe.
- You can stay here as long as you feel comfortable and supported. You might even explore sexual self-touch, if you are called to. Either way, return to the world gently. Thank yourself for this gift of time and reflection.
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I believe in joy, self-determination, consent, and pleasure. I live and write to reclaim my own power, and I share my stories so that you can reclaim your power, too. I hope that reading this has been pleasurable and life-affirming for you. Whether you are single, partnered, multi-partnered, in an “it’s complicated,” or in another situation not listed here, I hope this also encourages you to explore your own consensual, imaginative, and joyful fantasies and desires – and to live your life fully. You deserve it.
*Names have been changed
Read an excerpt from The Paradox of Love and Death by Artemis Glass.