Category Archives: Love

Wild Women Wakening: one month after…

Many years ago I read Dr Clarissa Pinkola Estés’ groundbreaking book “Women That Run with the Wolves”.

Not the same cover, but voilà... The book that found me at Cairns airport.
Not the same cover, but voilà… The book that found me at Cairns airport.

At least for me it was completely groundbreaking. It gave me the possibility of re-reading stories that are part of universal lore presented in an erudite, “exegetic” book. As it happens with many of these good books, WTRWTW crossed my path by chance (or perhaps not) at Cairns airport while waiting for a connecting flight back to Sydney. I had to “kill” nearly four hours in between flights, so I decided that the best thing to do would be to buy myself a book. Probably the best “impulse purchase” of my whole life, and believe me when I say I’ve allowed myself more than my fair share of impulse purchases …

Nearly nineteen years after that afternoon at Cairns airport, a few weeks ago at the gym, I bumped into Lauren Kennedy, one of my gym and aqua mates. After the Body Balance class we both took, she pinned up a poster on the communal corkboard at the entrance:

Wild Women Wakening poster workshop.
Wild Women Wakening poster workshop, or how to follow a hunch.

I didn’t have to think it over twice, and announced to Lauren that I wanted to participate and a few hours later I signed up for Wild Women Wakening. More often than not, those hunches tend to work to my advantage when they’re informed by deep intuitive knowledge rather than on a whim. Clarissa Pinkola Estés, the wolves and the enormous wealth of intuitive knowledge  that “Women That Run with the Wolves” brought into my life was conjured up from my subconscious depths. Yay! 🙂

On Day 1, though, I was feeling really sad and disconnected. My creative thoughts had gone missing in action, until Lauren handed us our sketchbooks. My drawing is pretty bad, but colour pencils lit a pilot creative light that flickered on. I wrote this:

We spoke about “La Loba” and read the short story from WTRWTW. I had this vision of a trip in the desert, with all its typical colours. I’m driving a Tesla car, and quickly find myself in the middle of nowhere. Fear turns into panic and I stop.

The sky is studded by a million stars and I begin to yield into the grandeur of its infinity and mystery.

“I don’t know where I am. I don’t know and I don’t care.

No sé dónde estoy. No sé ni me importa.

Without giving it a second thought, I step out of the car. Nothing around me, nothing but “darkness visible”.

I should be…


But I am not! And yet I know I’m not alone. She’s with me — La Loba!

I don’t dare turn around. My feet won’t move.


Stars everywhere, but no Moon.

‘Hear me!’ says La Loba. ‘Oi!’

I feel like an impostor, but she doesn’t know.

‘Hear me!’ she repeats. ‘You’ll be fine. You’re not alone. You’ll be a friend of the stars. I’m here and so are the bones… Those bones…’

At the sole mention of bones, I’m left wondering if I should be afraid, but I’m not.

‘I’ll teach you things. You’ll start with bones and create life. BE LIFE! You’re not alone!

In all fairness to my dear readers, I have to say I had intended to write a “diary” of the workshop, which has already run for a whole month and will continue until the end of April. But in the same breath I decided that the creative “muscle” that I’m exercising every Monday morning doesn’t need to become part of a discussion in the online world. Some “innerspaces” should remain so, methinks. Self-marketing time lasted almost two years (part of 2014 and most of 2015).  I’m now engaged in self-reflection, and enjoying it 🙂

All the same I’d love to mention my fearless fellow “creatresses”, Marilyn and Claire, in whom I found kindred spirits, as well as in Lauren herself. It’s become a very exciting part of my weekly routine to catch up with them in that beautiful space we share in Mount Victoria, and share our personal creative journeys in a spirit of cooperation and mutual support.

Have a nice evening and see ya later, FFJ 🙂

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Love, getting the hots, bipolar disorder and other diseases

Without a doubt, this is a topic right up my street … Jenny-Lee Heylen, another word wrangler (a.k.a. author, this is her website) like myself, shared this article by Carsie Blanton on Facebook, and it shook my blog apathy right to the core. I’ve been away from these pages for a while, for different reasons—too boring to discuss really.

Carsie Blanton, the author of the article that galvanised me into blog post writing again, calls herself a ‘love-fiend’ and yet she’s married. I’m in a relationship myself and I can kind of identify with what she says, but the difference between me and Carsie is that I’d never talk about love in these cases. What happened to words such as crush, for example? Or expressions such as getting the hots for someone? Call me old-fashioned, but I still feel like The Bard about these things:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Sonnet 116 never fails to make me shed a tear or two, which is kind of inconvenient really, because I’ve got a class to teach in an hour or so. But make no mistake: this sonnet represents the way I feel about love. Years ago I discussed it with my daughter after we watched Sense and Sensibility. I believe that if Jane Austen had lived in the twenty-first century, she would have had a slightly different take on love. Let me explain.

“Romantic” love, a.k.a. having the hots for someone, could (and notice I say could) be the beginning of something wonderful. Or not. Oh well, relationships can be hard …

Let’s say there are different ways of feeling tingly, itchy and fluttery about someone else, ranging from the unspeakable urge to have a frolic with them in a garden shed (cue my soon-to-be published Bedroom Short Stories for Discerning Adults) to romantic dinners, walks in the park, strolls on the beach, and the like. You get my drift.

“Love” is a different beast altogether: it involves developing a relationship, making oneself really vulnerable and learning a lot in the process. And what we learn about ourselves may not be nice. We kind of do relationships “by default”, based upon the parenting template we had in our infancy, childhood and adolescence.  Some of us repeat the parental model; some others create a new model based on it, or against it, or even in spite of it. We do what we can, and our experience of love is built upon that.

“Love” is weird: there are so many different critters that fall under the umbrella of love, and having crushes, or lusting after someone, or being obsessed, have qualified for a space in literary classics, and that’s part of their timelessness. In real life, we can also find this. Is it a case of “nature” imitating art, or is about something much deeper?

In my own personal experience, there’s the added tapestry brought in by bipolar disorder. In my adolescence, I was too intense to be around for those poor guys that decided to come just a bit close to me, but the adults around me would just sigh and say, ‘She’s going through a phase.’

Phase my foot … If twenty years or so can be rated as a “phase” …

The intensity that I experienced in my dealings with the opposite sex would go into a crescendo that still astonishes me. After all, I was a nerd, the sort of person who loved intellectual pursuits and who prided herself in having completed her higher education when my daughter was two-and-a-half years of age. After my first divorce at the age of twenty-five, there were plenty of uncertainties in my life, and very few certainties. Working full-time and raising a daughter wasn’t easy. But it was a lot less easy for me to understand why, between March-August (roughly the autumn and winter months in Argentina) I felt elated and “in love” most of the time. As soon as the spring was in the air, and the temperature and humidity shot up, I would come crashing down, and perceived myself as less attractive, less interesting, less “with it”… In short, I’d become less lovable.

Of course all those perceptions were fuelled by my neurotransmitters. “Being in love” or “falling in love” would inevitably precipitate what is known as hypomania, or a mild high state. I grew to associate depression with the opposite, and it would take me a long time, therapy and the proper treatment to put that into place and to start feeling comfortable within myself.

Now, going back to the “stir” that we feel when someone attractive rocks our world, how about calling a spade a spade? Why is it demeaning to say the truth, such as,

  • ‘You turn me on, baby.’
  • ‘I WANT you.’
  • ‘I LIKE you a lot.’
  • ‘You do it for me, gorgeous.’

What’s the point of saying ‘I love you’ when there’s great hormonal exhilaration, but no real relationship development? A good friend of mine talks about ‘falling in lust’ instead of falling in love. She’s so right on that one! I’m not saying that after a one-night stand we won’t feel a lot more than just a stir in the loins, but calling that “love” is a bridge too far.

Lust is good stuff. It makes you feel alive. If you get on well with the object of your lust, you may end up in a relationship and feeling deep love for them, and that’s wonderful. A relationship that starts with high sexual voltage has got only one downside: in the height of passion, we see the object of our desire in the way we want to see them. Perceptions become distorted and one day we wake up to “reality”—whatever that may mean. In some cases we realise we don’t want that person anymore, or we may discover that our connection has deepened and that even though the other isn’t as wonderful as we imagined them to be, they’re more than good enough and we want more. To be more precise, we want a committed relationship.

Ah! The cat is out of the bag now 🙂

This blog post isn’t about what makes or breaks a relationship, or about the nature of commitment. It’s about separating the wheat from the chaff. ‘Yeah, yeah …’ I can hear you say. ‘What’s wrong with calling it love instead of lust? What a picky boring bitch you are, FF Jensen!’ Yeah, maybe, but as much as this isn’t an attempt to define what love is, what I’m saying is that there’s nothing wrong with feeling sexually stirred up and calling that by name. We’d be honouring the feelings and the sensations that eroticism brings into our lives. We’d be acknowledging a very important part of the human experience that religion and the powers that be have frowned upon.

Yeah, that’s why I write erotica. It’s a lot more than naughty bits getting together. It’s about acknowledging life, an act of open defiance, and in a world that publishes everything on social media, it’s a way of keeping a private space, only to be shared with another (or others if you’re polyamorous or do group sex).

Get horny. Get happy. Catcha later, FFJ 🙂

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