Arising from my bed. The world is still asleep. Silence. Its almost tangible. It lays over my ears like an amplifier. Every creak, every squirrel chitter, every bird twitter, is audible, even from inside.

Coffee. Micro-roasted, the ‘Fat Albert’ blend. The scent is amazing, the taste as amazing as the scent, its flavor moderated with a dollop of heavy cream. Real cream.

It is moist outside. The air caresses my skin, masking my face in cool mist. So refreshing and invigorating. Green. So many shades of green. The guest from England said we have more shades of green here even than in the British Isles. The daffodils and tulips are blooming. The bamboo is dangling diamond droplets from its leaves. The primroses are showing their colours, and my winter daphne is still blooming, sharing its scent with the breeze.

Life. “Every day you wake up and then there’s a new day,” says a very dear friend. Ambivalence or Acceptance? Striving to enjoy the sensual immediacy of the moment–of every moment–even with the concerns of the day pressing, pressing, always pressing. Pressure in my pelvis. An easy pressure to release.

Deep breath. Scanning my body. Holding tension in my shoulders, my abdomen, my low back. Exhaling. Shoulders drop, hips shift. Better.

Back inside. Altar. Lighting incense. Sitting zazen. A nod to Buddha, so sanguine and magnanimous. Om. A timeless moment of blankness, of purity. Better. Much better.

Breath. Breathing. Drawing energy upwards from my pelvis. Hips rolling forward as I inhale, rolling back as I exhale. Gentle pressure along my perineum and the entrance to my vagina. Arousal rises with the gentle rocking, and with it, heat.

More rocking breaths, more heat, more energy to draw up, up, up through the top of my head. As the energy flows, so does the wetness. I can feel my labia part as I breathe and rock, breathe and rock, feeling the power of my arousal, so pure, so languid. There is no urgency, only pleasure radiating through me, orange-gold and potent.

The brush of my fingers against my labia sends a thrill up my spine. Nipples harden, sending the thrill back down my belly, racing toward my clitoris. Breath. Breathe. Breathing. Rocking. Rolling. Pressing. Pressing the button, reversing the flow of energy, flooding my pelvis.

Orgasm. Bliss. Hiccuping breath. More rocking. More breathing. Another caress of my mound. Fingers pressing. Orgasm and bliss. Endless cycle until breathing is ragged and I find myself laying on my back, staring at the ceiling.

No-thought. No tension. Just bliss.

Good morning, world.

—

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