A self-awareness story about life, love, romance, and the intimate love arts.


   The Yoni Dance Book Trilogy

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About All Those Things
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Book Two

Relationships or Fantasy trips

Chapter One 

The morning After





It’s now morning on Monday, just one day after Jazz-day, Sunday.   Fresh from yesterday’s experience with Jazbell, I sit quietly in Georgio’s restaurant sipping coffee and basking in the warmth of the midmorning sun.    The clock over the restaurant door tells me that the rest of the world thinks it’s 10:01 a.m.   It isn’t — at least for me it isn’t.   My body is here, but my mind is elsewhere.   Sunday isn’t finished yet.   As smoothly as the white clouds overhead glide across the morning sky, I drift through the joyous memories of yesterday with Jazbell.    

At the moment, I haven’t a care.   As I look blankly across the street, I see a cat sitting in a second story window above the street market.   Immediately, the lyrical lines from one of my favorite, early-American poem, “The Persian Kitty” come dancing through my mind.  

The morning after the night before,
The Persian cat returned at half past four,
The innocent look in her eyes had went,
But the smile on her face was the smile of content.

This cat, Stoney, has returned — returned as never before — never to be the same again.   And ready for more.   Yesterday, Sunday with Jazbell, was like a month in heaven.  




This is apparently poetry morning for three lines from the poem, “I love You” by Roy Croft also come to mind.  

I love you for not only what you are,
but for what I am when I am with you. 
I love you for the part of me that you bring out.  

I certainly like that part of me that came out yesterday.   I’m also thankful that I took Jezebel’s advice and scheduled this day as a day off from my usual routine.  

Between sips of coffee, I drift and shift between that invisible world that exists behind my eyes and the physical world I find my body experiencing.  

As I sit, calmly, peacefully, enjoying the warm sun, my coffee, and the aromas that float into my nostrils from the kitchen behind me, my mind is neither here nor there, neither busy nor still.   For once, I just am.   I close my eyes, intentionally breathe deeply and listen to the bustle of the street and the restaurant.   I float above the noises and just enjoy being.   

In my physical stillness, I hear Jezebel’s words in my mind.   “It’s not a place we seek to go to.   It’s not external things that we seek to have.   It’s not even the physical sensations we seek to experience.   It’s the internal feelings, the emotions, the sense of who we are, the sense of unity with everything that we desire to experience.   It’s a joy-filled state of being that we are after.   Our minds tend to wrap those 'feel good' feelings in numerous words such as love, happiness, peace, and contentment.”   

In my mind I continue to hear her words.   “We are Spiritual beings having a human experience.   Remember, joy is an inside job.   So is love, peace, contentment, awareness and enlightenment.   So too is God and all those other internal intangibles that we attempt to label with external words.”  

I specifically remember one of her more profound questions,  “If you choose to connect to the invisible part of reality that we call God, where in the physical world do you go to do that?”  

I sit contemplating the answer, or more accurately, an answer.    I think “Anywhere!   Everywhere!   Nowhere!   In a church.   In a cave.   On a mountain top.   In my mind.   In your mind.   All of the above.   None of the above.”   How do I answer a question when every answer is right and, at the same time, at least partially wrong?   I just let all that thinking stuff go.   At the moment, at least, I just am.  

With Jazbell’s excellent tutelage, her delightful sensual and sexual self, and the profound experience I shared with her yesterday, I am not the man I was just two days ago.   I am today in a joy-filled state of being that I cannot even begin to put into words.   

In terms of its profundity, yesterday’s experience is on par with my sixteenth birthday with Susan.   It seems, however to have taken me beyond interpersonal intimacy as a physical experience into an expanded level of awareness of who I am.   I have shared with you, dear reader, some of the highlights of yesterday’s experience, but I cannot really touch the essence of it with words, nor can I even begin to explain what changed within me.   What I can say is that, through my remarkably loving and intensely intimate, sensual, sexual sharing with Jazz, I sense that I have received my first real taste of God as an internal experience.  

Even as I write this, it sounds weird.   Sexual sharing as a spiritual experience?   A few weeks ago I would certainly have placed that idea squarely in the lunatic fringe.   Now, I am not so sure.   Once again, I find myself at one of those crossroads of life where an either/or decision seems to be called for.   Is sex a spiritual experience or is it not? For most people, such thoughts sound crazy, but now I’m wondering if that concept just might also describe the future of humanity.    

Today, part of me feels similar to how I felt at age six, when I overheard my older brother talking to a friend and saying Santa Clause wasn’t real.   My mind was in turmoil.   Of course I wanted to believe Santa Clause was real, but my sense of certainty was profoundly shaken.   Today, I sit again with shattered certainty, this time, uncertainty regarding the nature of who I am.  

Using Llove and sexual excitement to alter consciousness, to create a spiritual experience, to transcend our limited view of life is a concept that, until very recently, was not even in my awareness, to say nothing of it as personal experience.   

If all this doesn’t make any sense to you, that’s OK.   My mind can’t grasp it either, but somewhere inside, I just seem to know that whatever it is, it’s right for me because it feels right.   It feels good.   It feels really good.    

Instead of making any proclamations about what is or isn’t real, I’ll pass on to you another of Jazbell’s bits of wisdom:  “Don’t believe any of this,” she says.   "And don’t deny it either.   If you play with the practices I’ve shared with you, and the practices I’ve yet to share with you, and, if you’re patient and persistent, you’ll, sooner or later, know by personal experience just what I’m talking about.”   

At one point in our Sunday together, I asked Jezebel to distinguish for me the difference between feelings and sensations.   Since we’re talking about feelings, this seems like a good place to share her answer with you.   

Feelings,” she says, “are internal emotions — states of being — expressions of who we are being in any given moment.   Although we use countless words to describe these inner feelings, the bottom line is quite simple.   We either feel good, or we feel bad.   Our nature is to move toward that which inspires us to feel good and away from that which inspires us to feel bad.   

Tactile sensations, on the other hand, are physical experiences that can be sensed by the body.   Like sight, sound, taste and smell, the sense of physical touch generates within us responses we call feelings and emotions, which, in turn, generate thoughts, beliefs and words, which prompt actions, which, in turn, generate more sensations, which, again, generate additional internal feelings and emotions.   The cycle keeps going, seemingly without end.”   

OK, so what?” I say to her.  

She responds with, “We can use our internal feelings as guides to tell us whether we are headed toward or away from that which expresses who we say we are and/or that which we say we desire.”  

When she tells me this, I admit to her that I still don’t get it.  

OK, look at it this way,” she says.   “If you held a strong desire to have an intimate love relationship in your life, you’d feel good about those things that brought you toward your love and bad about those things that pushed you away.   You could, if you so chose, use your feelings as guides in directing your actions.  

The same is true for anything else you desire.   The feeling may not be as clear or as intense, however you will feel good when moving toward what you desire and feel bad when moving away.   Those inner feelings are that invisible part of yourself, ref:1-1   guiding you in every waking moment.   You cannot be aware of every thought, but you can be easily be aware of how you are feeling at any given moment.”  

Follow you bliss,” she says.   “Follow your heart and the universe will fall into place to manifest you fondest desires.”  

Is this fact or is she peddling pleasant fiction?   How can I know for sure?  

I sit contentedly and drift between the physical-here-and-now and the non-physical space of just being.   More questions come floating in and out of my mind.   Is it possible to know God by experience?   Is there a non-physical reality?   If there is a non-physical reality, then, how do I get there?   Where does it begin?   Where in the physical universe do I go in order to reach the non-physical?   If it is not physical, then there can’t be any “there” there, so how do I touch that which is untouchable?   Am I just daydreaming?   Is life just a dream with our eyes open?   Who am I?   What am I?   Why am I here?   Is there really life after death?  

Lots of questions but no answers.   Lots of feelings, but still no answers, unless, perhaps the feelings are the answers.   I ask myself, “Are feelings the answer?”   In response, I feel good.   I take that as a positive sign.  

I continue to float between the mental questions and my internal feelings.   Again I wonder, “Is there really life after death?” and in my mind I hear, “What do you think this is?”   That confuses me even more.   Then I remember something that I read somewhere.   “There is no death, only a change of form.”   Could that be the answer?   It’s a comforting thought, but no living person knows that for sure, unless, of course, there are some who do.   More questions.   A circle of questions.   Several circles of questions —but no answers.  

I seem not to know anything for sure any more.   The only thing I do know for certain is that whatever it is that we connect with when we use the word God -- that connection is having a profound effect on me.   I feel like I’m on the edge of one of those chasms of life where the religious people say the only way across is by a leap of faith.   I don’t jump.   I sit down. 

Finally, I drift back to the poem about the Persian Kitty.   I decide to go home and re-read it.   Within thirty minutes, I am sitting in my favorite chair reading.   Additional stanzas that seem a perfect fit come to mind so I move to my computer and start writing.   I am amazed at the ease with which most of the words come to me.   Before an hour is out I have created no less than 18 additional stanzas.   I share them and the original poem with you now.  



    The Persian Kitty


The original version of this poem dates back
to somewhere in the 1800’s.  
The author of the original seven stanzas 
(1, 2, 3, 4, 5,  8, & 25)  is unknown.  ref: 1-2  

The additional 18 stanzas (6, 7, & 9-24) 
were written in 1997 by this author.  
Also, stanza # 8 has been slightly altered
from its original form.  


1)  A Persian kitty,  perfumed and fair
Strayed out through the kitchen door for air,
When a tomcat, lean, and lithe,  and strong,
And dirty, and yellow, came along.

2)  He sniffed at the perfumed Persian cat,
As she strutted about with much eclat,
And, thinking a bit of time to pass,
He whispered, “Kiddo, you sure got class.”

3)  That’s fitting and proper,” was her reply,”
As she arched the whiskers over her eye.
“I’m ribboned; I sleep on pillows of silk,
And daily I’m bathed in certified milk.”

4)  “Yet I’m not contented with what I’ve got,
I try to be happy, but happy I’m not;
And I should be joyful, I should indeed,
For I certainly am highly pedigreed.”

5)  “Cheer up” said the tom cat  with a smile,
“And trust your new-found friend a while.  
You need to escape from your backyard fence.
All you need, my dear, is experience.”  

6)  “Come to the woods with me.” he said to her,  
As he arched his back and ruffled his fur. 
“If it’s fun you want, I know with you exactly what to do,
‘cause ‘round the block, I’ve been a time or two.”

7)  “The place is near and the time is now; 
Come fly with me and I’ll show you how,
To see midnight sun, and touch the moon.
And we’ll still be back long before ‘morrow noon.”

8)  New joys of life he then unfurled,
As he told her tales of the outside world;
Then again suggested with a luring laugh
A trip for two down the Primrose path. 

9)  Scowling, she said to him as he looked at her,
“I’m smooth as silk with clean white fur; 
You’re dirty, you’re crude, you’re coarse, 
And worst of all, you smell like a horse.”

10)  “I’ve got letters and pedigrees,  
You’ve got scars and quite a few fleas;
I drink milk that’s laced with spice 
You scrounge through garbage and eat wild mice.”

11)  “And you expect of me to fly with thee;
What a joke” were the words she spoke,
As she curled her toes and snubbed her nose.
Sitting in silence, not a word did he did say,
As she cast him off and walked away.

12)  As he watched her walk, he smiled his lips,
‘cause as she left, she wiggled her hips;
He’d seen this innocent act before, 
He knew she’d soon be back for more.  

13)  Into the house she pranced,  his offer spurned; 
She was but brief inside and  soon returned; 
For reasons more than numerous, 
She was excited, alert, and quite curious.

14)  He held his tongue for the night was new,
While she convinced herself of what to do;
She twitched her eye and wondered why,
She fancied this wild tom cat, with his cool chit chat. 

15)  Was it his confident style and inviting smile?
Was it that glint in his eye when he told me why
One night with him is worth months at the gym?
Her reasons came; her excuses went;
Until finally her mind was spent.  

16)  Then she looked at him with a silly grin, 
She flipped her tail and scratched her chin;

"Oh, what the hell,” she did declare,
"I  like your style and your yellow hair.”

17)  “The truth  of your tales I do not know;
But, I’m due for change, so I’ll give it a go;”
And quick as a fiddle, Tom did jump,
up onto the fence and shook his rump.

18)  Before they left, he marked it all;
The gate, both trees, and the garden wall;  
He marked the space just in case,
Garfield, Felix, or some other guy,     
Might later come a wanderin’ by.

19)  Then off went they over the fence 
and down the alley,
Past the place where Harry met Sally;
They strolled with a smile and a laugh,
But they only went a block and a half.

20)  South of the creek and north of the woods,
He cast his pearls and peddled his goods;
He showed her this.   He taught her that; 
She learned so much from that wise tom cat.

21)  The moon came up and the moon went down;
As the cats by the creek went round and round;
They screeched and howled, till neighbors scowled;
They laughed and cried, till the night ‘most died.  

22)  Before she left  that morning new,
She said to him,  “Your tale’s proved true;
You’re scroungy and skinny, with matted fur,
But you sure do know how to make me purr.”  

23)  You’ve got a funny smell and you’re dirty as hell,
But you know the score and treat me well.
You’re scruffy, a rake  and a rambling boy,
But I like you style and your  strong love toy.”

24)  Feeling then his time and loins well spent,
He said to her, ”I shall return.”  And off he went;
She sauntered up the alley to her own back door,
Hoping he’d soon return for more.  

25)  And so, the morning after this night before,
Persian cat returned at half past four;  
That innocent look in her eyes had went,
But the smile on her face was the smile  of content.




Upon finishing the poem, my first inclination is to call Jezebel and share my creation with her.   I resist out of fear of appearing to be needy or too aggressive in my connection with her.   I decide instead to print out my creation, wait until Tuesday , and then, place it in an envelope along with a little note and slip it under her door.   Then, when she gets home that evening, she’ll read it and call me.  

At 3:07, Tuesday afternoon, I slip a printout of my creation under her door and return home to await her call.   I sit home and wait impatiently all evening.   By 11:30, I realize that my plan is a complete flop.   She does not call.  

The following day, I receive an envelope in my mailbox with a New York postmark.   The envelope contains this note: 

Dear Stoney, 

I am off to New York and then to Sweden to examine another potential project for the Of-Course Foundation.   I expect to be gone for about two weeks.   Jim has been in Vancouver, so I have not yet had the opportunity to talk further with him about your writing of the book.   I will do so as soon as I get back.   

Take care of yourself.


I read her note.   I read it again.   “That’s it!” I say to myself.   “After what we shared on Sunday, that’s all I get is a note.”   She obviously has not yet seen my poem.  Needles to say, I’m very disappointed.   

I go outside and walk around the block three times while intentionally breathing deeply.   By the time I return, I’m at least calm enough to ask myself, “OK, now what do I do?”

I proceed do the only thing I know how to do.   I lose myself in my writing.   Over the course of the next few days, I amaze myself at how well I do most of the time.   I also decide that I need to talk to someone, so I arrange to meet with Georgio on Sunday after he returns from church.  

I meet him at his restaurant at noon and then take him out to a competitor’s nearby café to buy him lunch.   At first he insists an eating in his own establishment, but I manage to convince him to take a busman’s holiday and go with me to a restaurant where he’s not in charge.  

Once there, I tell Georgio my tale of woe and in his usual, humorous manner, he is quite comforting.   “Women,” he says, “we can’t live with them and we can’t live without them.   When they get too close, we wish them away.   When they’re away, we wish them near.”   He proceeds to distract me with another story of the women of his youth in Milan, (Italy) where he grew up.  

About fifteen minutes into our conversation, the café owner arrives.   He immediately spots Georgio, comes over, and says, “Ah, Monsieur Georgio, I see you came to get some good food for a change.” 

No, my friend,” Georgio responds,  “I just came to learn what not to do.”  

Both men laugh and the owner say, “Georgio, you and your friend dine here today as my guest.   I must leave now to pacify my wife and so I bid a good day to both of you.”   He informs the waitress that we are dining as his guests and soon leaves.  

Georgio and I spend the next hour conversing about women and about life in general.   By the time we part company, I’m feeling much better.

End of Chapter One  ---  The Morning After - And The Persian Kitty



Footnotes and References


ref 1-1  
Your Higher Self, your soul, your connection with God,
The Great Wow, or as some say, God, Herself.   

ref: 1-2   This author found the original version of the Persian Kitty
in the remnants of a book titled
“A Treasury of American Ballads.”  
The front pages of the book were missing,
so, at this time, the name of the book’s publisher
or its publication date have not yet available.






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