The meadow embraces you.

Has the sun ever felt like this? Tilt your head upwards and take it in. The glow falls on your eyelids and draws them to a soft close. A warm, comforting fog of light surrounds you and gently stirs the blood under the surface of your skin to blush. A floral, peachy aroma mixed with the earthy must of a field of evergreen grass rained on the day before wafts in the air - a scent you feel you’ll remember vividly, it’s already nostalgic. Gentle breeze conducts the sensations through the collar of your garments - streams of feeling spirals your body. Your clothing is made of soft, flowing material that has the properties of both cotton and silk - you are covered but if you don’t look down it feels like you’re naked.

The meadow calls you.

A tree isn’t too far off, just at the top of the hill you are scaling. Its leaves whisper and hiss into the sides of your neck and the back of your ears. Your body listens more attentively, raising the hairs on your skin to pick up the signals. Somewhere below…further away, the ocean exhales as it stretches and rolls into the terrain. You exhale too, it comes like an infectious yawn. You feel the weight on your chest dissipates into the air.

The meadow quiets you.

You reach the top of the hill and retreat under the tree. It’s canopy is a mosaic of pine and gold. The sun pierces through the gaps and prickles your skin. The ground is lush green grass and nothing else. The meadow is for you and you alone. In its vastness, you can experience peace. In its peace, you can experience bliss.

The meadow touches you.

The spirits of bliss and pleasure sing through the winds - each wisp forms a pressure against your skin as if their astral bodies are apparating onto you. Sometimes one, sometimes many. Sometimes fingers. Sometimes lips. Sometimes a navel. Sometimes a chest. Slowly and gently sliding past you - on your sides, behind you and between you. They appear as they near you and dissapear as fast as they come, feeding on your anticipation and desire and offering in return a pleasing glow that further sends your blood rushing - mental energies seeping back into you through the physical. One astral body materialises stays for a while - a glowing form. Their naked body presses onto you in a loving embrace.

The meadow speaks to you.

They smell your neck and nape as if to weed out where your desires lie from scent, then they whisper deeply into your ear

“We welcome you. We ask that you welcome us, open your desires unto us - so we may sustain ourselves on your spirit: the desires and lusts for things beautiful, sensual and pleasurable. That energy helps us grow…and in its place, we give you the physical feelings and sensations you so greatly wish for to your body.”

With each phrase uttered their voices morph into something new. Deep, velvety voices that rumble and croak - soft, smooth voices that sway and sing. They invite you to link souls and imbibe on each other, so they may continue to soar the skies in perpetuity. All you have to do is say - “Come in”.

The meadow forms a contract with you.

Your mind is a powerful thing. Everything you perceive, every feeling and sensation you feel, pain or pleasure - it is created by the mind and felt in the body. Without that connection, the essence of life is unattainable - feeling is an essential component of life. Some describe spirits as being born from the collective will of all life, the overwhelming urge to survive, interlock, grow and experience - an amalgamation of strong feelings reverberating from their origin. Becoming more attuned with the spirits you feel how necessary this transfer of power is, giving your desires to the spirits is not just beneficial for any one individual, it is beneficial for the vast unknowable balances of the world. Where in religion you have to practise faith, in this meadow - you know faith: certainty without a formal, logical proof. A stirring sense of emotional awe percolates within you as you give your trust to the spirits. A trust that is binded in the acknowledgement of a primordial directive. Your exhaltation can’t be contained, a long stuttered breath escapes your lips - you taste the salt of tears. The connection of the mind to the essence of life allows the spirit to send strong signals that your mind may react to and you give these feelings your full acceptance.

The flesh is opaque, gasps on your skin condense and leave moistness, you see impressions on the plane of your skin where the spirits are giving the gift of touch. The contract has heightened everything at once and with this comes an oversimulation as your body tries to understand these new sensations. You struggle to catch your breath and stumble onto the grass - the land etches itself onto your knees, it teaches you the origins of prayer. The spirit settles as the balance starts to rupture, they focus a gentle hand placement on your chest which slowly sweeps. Breathe in as the hand sweeps up, breathe out as it goes back down. You become regulated. Lips meet yours, taking in the agitated fragments of air and replacing it with a calming vapor. The lips linger into a kiss - your desires slip into the spirit’s mouth like spittle forming an untaut strand between the blossoms. Lips part and meet, the warmth and wet delivers a magnetic longing that pulls you back in more each time. Pecking, slipping, pressing, sometimes enveloping - the two sets of lips dance a dance on a frictionless icy stage. The spirit materialises more as your desire to be strongly, warmly held strengthens. You want to form a crucible for the flushes of pleasure you feel from this embrace to collect. You both lay fully horizontal, locking shuffling legs and arms spiralling around each other’s body like the roots of the tree you are under - the spirit’s hot mouth and lips are delicate and supple but their hold is strong and encompassing, in their arms the distance between the embrace and the outside world feels infinite. Books will tell you that everything that surrounds sex comes from a lizard brained impulse to procreate - this experience is telling you that kissing was concepted by the spirits to temper us into putty that they can mould.

The meadow listens to you.

Unexpected is glimpses of hesitation in the spirit’s movements as you tussle. A spirit that is built of thousands of years of knowledge - that has passed through the body and souls of millions before you surely would know exactly what you need…what to do. They would act upon those needs with a deliberate confidence. Tinkering on your body like an exact machine, prodding your points of bliss with impossible levels of precision. But you feel the spirit pause and reconfigure from time to time, sometimes catching it’s sensual vapors and releasing them into the air instead of into you. Why would the spirit be uncertain? By now, your body and voice is screaming a thirst for this ceremony, mutterings of “mmmmm”, pulling and pulling in reciprocation - throbbing in excitement - you are both honoring the contract splendidly. But still a hesitation. They know you don’t they? They can feel and decipher every desire and the desires of many before you. You wonder if their intentions are in tension, feeding you in small doses so that you don’t go too far in the journey too early - enforcing discipline for a stamina that will have you floating just under the precipice of the tree’s canopy for hours. The thought piques your interest but you something else underneath though, something vulnerable and…human? The hesitation you perceive turns into a hesitation of your own, you understand that this is the spirit’s directive, but nothing exists purely for another’s desire. Should you really be forfeiting yourself entirely to your sexual motivations? Pause. You rest your head on the spirit’s shoulder and gently press your palm against their back looking down in consideration; something intuitively tells you this gesture will express the complex of conflicting ideas in your head that constitute feelings of confusion the spirit has probably picked up by now.

“No one person is the same. Each neuron that fires through your body bursts forth worlds of new feeling, potentials, movements, thoughts & beliefs, invention. The possibilities live outside of the idea of thousands, millions or even trillions. To assume any one person can be immediately understood from the averages of signals of others is to stagnate the essence of life itself. Stagnation is not natural in humans, even if it seems prevalent. You are bountiful and beautiful. I am learning you.”

“Can I learn you?”

“No, but you can become a part of me.”

The meadow takes you.

Their tongue tastes the salts left from your dried tears of joy, you feel the broad warm wet sensation on your cheek. Your sensitivity increases as you get more comfortable. You feel the individual buds upon their tongue…that same feeling your tongue can feel when it lingers on the peaks and valleys of a delightful body. You wonder how much you can lose yourself in the spirit as you feel its self overlapping onto yours, you can’t deny a fear of giving control - but you trust where this will take you. You taste your own salts. Curiosity sets you into motion, your hand leads the face of the spirit back to meet lips - skin caressing and brushing against each other with the motion of soft ocean waves, slow and eventual but unbreakable. There’s something you want to feel. You open your mouth slightly wider with each graze, taking more and more of that glowing mist each time. Opening wider, wider and wider until your mouth is agape and your lips are too arched to meet, like a drawbridge making way for a large freight vessel. Both tongues want to savor the taste, clams clambering for salts. They stretch from their steamy enclosures and grasp each other. You take a long, deliberate, curling lick from the tip of their tongue, the feeling of both tongues layered on top of each other feels worlds better than you thought it would, a chuckle at your own ingenuity shatters into a deep, guttural moan.

The anticipation alone of feeling in a new dimension bursts a fizzing chain reaction that starts at your taint and dissipates through your legs and organ. Your body listens to the messages sent through synapses and sends warm, internal blood rushing. Inhibitions drop further as you tangle and suckle tongues through intervals of tight interlocking of lips, the vacuum forms a channel for the nectar to flow heavier. You come up for air to temper the sensations, then bring your neck back slightly to gaze at the spirit in tipsy admiration. You are somehow able to see the ever changing physical form all at once, no longer phasing in and out but a cascading of realities that your mind can simultaneously perceive. You stroke their cheek and feel a consolidation of different shapes and textures of skin and hair. Sometimes you focus yourself to a single visage, but you can’t help but let them all collide into you at once, just like how you take in the combined, individual natural wonders that make up a peach sunset. You close your eyes as if you are staring into the sun and want to feel its glow. You are sensitive and ravenous, losing control of holding back how much you want more - feelings of greed that you normally keep in check.

Eyes open. The spirit has slid down with a steamy mouth over your nipple, a teasing, testing lick maps the areola - your nipple stands up in attention. When they flatten their tongue onto you, the warmth seeps into your heart. When they graze the tip of their tongue over the peak of your nipple, a jolt titilates your nerves. When they suckle, they extract the tension from your body. Your back curves and you arms sprawl as you gaze into the sky, cotton clouds swim in muted cyan blues and salmon pinks, your pleasure reflected. Your attention goes back to the spirit hard at work as you feel a gentle nibble, you try to utter a polite request but a “hhaa-” pitches up into a vulnerable moan - you say the words you wish to speak in your mind “harder - please, harder”. They increase the pressure of their bite and the dull pang turns into sweet, sharp pain. They look up at you with dedication in their eyes as they grin their teeth onto your nipple - staring deeply at you, focusing as to make sure the pain stays good. They cover their mouth over your nipple again and alternate between gentle bites and swirling ancient hyrogliphics onto your body. You feel everything from everybody at once and it entices your own tongue to lurch forward from your lips. There are tongues exploring your neck, chest, navel, your smooth and pruned toes…even under your knees - that weak point that would collapse you to the ground if you were standing. You bring the spirit back up to your face and enthustically thank them with a panting kiss. You entangle further, both bodies gyrating against each others now, friction causing sparks of gratification. The sparks catch on the blades of grass and brings them to a smoulder, the evergreen shifts into a warm autumn pumpkin and the texture of the grass mimics a velvet like felt - like a soft warm throw. You gaze up again and the blues have gone and the pink meets a deep purple.

The meadow carries you.

First times are always special. Do you remember yours? The first time you really internalized something beautiful and sensuous. Was it a vista? Was it a taste? Was it a new feeling? The experience opens a single door that leads to a network of new doors. Each door leading to a new universe of potentials. The map of sensations that branch and spread looks like a single blazing tree igniting a network of flora in a forest fire. A first time feeling blood flow and collect in an erogenous zone. A first gentle, timid kiss. The first plunge of your heart into the baths of love and lust. The first time tumbling with another person’s body, spiraling so much that you could swear anyone looking couldn’t make out who was who - engulfed in a mutual eye-rolling orgasm, spilling into each other. Some firsts are disappointing, or even traumatic - leading to networks of dark, damp corridors that you would rather not explore. We can all venture enough to find light. A first instance of joy is a new first, after all - leading to multiples of other possibilities and beginnings. The door this spirit leads you to is heavy, ornate, and oak. The spiritual energy of the approach overwhelmes you and exerts a strong force on your whole body that pulls you towards the earth - the perpetual spirits of pleasure, bliss, and feeling tug you to the entrance and open the doors for you. On the other side, not a new network of doors - but a sprawling, bountiful meadow - just like this one. This is your first time feeling whole.

The meadow takes you to its precipice.

Pulling. Pulling pulling pulling. Pulling and pulling and pulling. The spirit slips hands into you, straight through your skin like reaching into a portal. They clutch on something intangible within you. Something soft, pale and golden stretches though the membrane - like plasma or like the inbetween point of light and liquid, nebulous like a cloud but also syrupy as it elastically stretches from your body. You feel it as it pours out of you. You think about practices like the japanese healing techniques of reiki and wonder if the practioners know how close they are to resembling this transcendant transfer of energy - whether this is what they experienced and wanted to share with the world. The spirit slowly pulls on your purest, deepest desires and leaves your body with wide open radiant and gold fissures on the surface, but instead of feeling the pain of nerves exposed raw to the elements, screaming for protection - you feel an encompassing torrent of pleasure flow through the golden threads. The spirit inspects and picks at the hotspots of your desires all over you body like an ape attentively grooming their bretherin, making sure to extract your energy as agonisingly and delightfully slowly as possible; hands stroke your hair and face and linger on your lips, consoling you for not suffocating on your own fervent breaths. The luminous energies collect at your erogenous spots - bulbous appendages, exposed sides and internal masses, collecting and swelling so much that the slow pulling becomes a comely frustration. You’re engorged and dripping like the awapuhi plant which you are reminded of because the nectars look like they’d taste of ginger root and honey. You gape your mouth to beckon for a taste. “Patience will quench your thirst.” Your mouth stays open in endless expectation.

The meadow erupts in the spring.

The sky’s hues blend and swim, colours pale and colours deep, lightness and darkness. Time spills as you hover on the edge of the peak. Toes curled and limbs extended as your nerves reach their tendrils to the surface of the inside of your flesh. You could stay here forever where your body is fireworks and water. Forever and longer.

You wish you could be like the spirit, a formless, perpetuate being that engorges on and trades in desires. The hot frission of skin on skin and tongues on tongues and skin on tongues and hands and hair and sweat and breath causes chain reactions, explosions inside you that force goosebumps onto your skin. You want to stay here forever. Why fall back down from this heaven where you experience long moments of grey and things that don’t excite you. The parts of you that wants their lips to stop doing all those wonderful things to your groin and loins so that you can continue to teeter are betrayed by the greed of your body. Will you soar down from the weir?

You whimper a stubborn “…no” and snap your legs in defiance shut even though you know that won’t protect you from the spirit’s powers. The spirit takes a pause, a finger traces the seam of your closed legs, “Are you sure you want forever?” The spirit hovers at your legs, their gaze focused on what lies beneath, they lay below you dedicated, but through the connection you can hear them intimately in your ear like their breath is jetting into the canal, rendering you utterly undone. “To remain restless and agitated in a frenzy, unable to decompress and melt onto the earth? Don’t you want to feel the muscles in your body relax back to a restful state after being so deliciously nourished? Transition and transience is what makes you”.

Sweet kisses on the underneath of your legs slowly pry them back open like a flower bud’s epinastic movement of waking. You wish to cling to your defiance a little more just to see how they would solve the problem of enticing you further but your arousal unfurls you. You’re in the acceptance stage, you unravel further to expose every crevice of your skin to the spirit - you want to go out big.

A chaos of fingers, tongues, planes and tips now travel in unison, steadily forming a rythym that matches your heart rate. The resonance of your blood pumping along with the fucking pulses to your genitals - a feeling that exceeds anything you thought you could feel. You’re inflated now. A headrush turns off all high cognitive thought and allows your body to be entirely commited to pleasure. A pleasure your body can no longer contain. A pleasure your body was only meant to contain for a long, lusty moment and release into the wild after the moment had to pass. The sensitive parts of your body feel white hot with sensation as the spirit keeps testing you relentlessly, still pulling out gushes of desire. You feel inside you a land terraformed into a river by the nectars wanting to flood from your body. First pulses that reach a tide and permeate back into the body, then waves that lap at the precipice and splash a little over the edge down into the earth…steadily steadily increasing pressure. Your euphoria and anticipation for the the glorious moment allows you to experience echoes of it in your body before it comes. You want to announce it but your words are drowned out by the thunderous clashing of ocean waves against a wall of rock. You’ve been smoothed out by its currents, allowing everything to flow fluidly. And it does. Almighty contractions inside you push the river past the weir. First a precautionary leak, then prolonged jets that splash out onto the earth, feeding it. Shoots sprout and stretch and evolve and blossom into new flowers in the damp patches you leave. You jut and shudder as if the sexual energy is coursing through you like an electrical current. It feels absolutely unreal. The waterfall dries up more and more with each twitch but its recession just allows you to feel the layers of pleasure underneath the most intense. The thick heat of the sun evaporates the tension and pressure as you deflate into a satisfied pile. Soon totally satiated and empty. You no longer need a crucible to store the pleasure as you have witnessed abundance and wish for it to flow freely - knowing you will get your chance again. You thank the spirit with a prayer of perfect feeling. A refreshing sencerity. The spirit, drinking in the remains of your desire, glows brighter and grows larger. “You gave and gave so that I may grow wings again and migrate through the skies - take what you have experienced and find kin to share it with and those desires with multiply and spread for us to pluck and fertilise the earth with”.

The meadow grows from you anew.