Becoming earth’s lover
Cosmic orgasm.
The more I grow, the more I see my different avatars converging. A point of meeting that honors my paths and my struggles.
Several fems[1] inhabit my bodies.
Several bodies. Bodies manifold.
Some of their pieces fall off every summer, when I brush my layers of skin in the Mediterranean.
One day, I exploded with love, burning with desire for an impossible[2] body. The fems who lived within me then formed a sabbath. They were screaming: “What to do with so much love?”
We decided to fuck the earth. No human being could do it with such intensity. No body could be pierced by such force.
There, my soul was set free. The whore, the priestess, the witch, the empress dance together, rejoice, enrapture.
Cosmic orgasm.
I fuck the rocks of the sacred wood. The sacred does not avert the perverse. Mary Magdalene washes her tears with the cyprine that dries between my thighs.
In the depths of my flesh’s labyrinths, a monster-woman rises, wild. I no longer need anything. I awaken in paradise.
The sun, universal love, fills the hollows of my being and soothes my skin torn by the bushes. I need nothing anymore. I no longer need even to keep you in my cellular memory. I am one with existence.
I have never felt so beautiful, so desired, as when making love to this earth. I have lost all culture, all language. Nothing is necessary anymore.
Ecstasy, at last, was this simple.
LIBERTAD A LAS ALMAS ATRAPADAS EN LA PENA[3]
A forest firefighter — very dyke, very sexy — led me to the park's exit. She kicks us out because of the fire hazard. My breasts are in flames.
I cried until I dried out. I wish she would have joined me in my ritual.
That day, I discovered my animal self. I faced the fears and anxieties that once devoured me, I married the Earth as the ultimate proof of my love.
An intimate connection with the networks of life.
We cannot dissociate ourselves from life. Even when our limited consciousness prevents us from grasping its mysteries.
We cannot dissociate ourselves from the earth. She sustains us and demands to be sustained. She needs us, even amid humanity’s somber night. She keeps singing to us her enchanting melodies of resurrection, of liberation.
At least, for those who can hear.
To be at her service is the only path that now holds meaning. No struggle makes sense anymore, except the struggle for life itself, for the respect of the life of every living being, birthed by the earth and bathed in the little pure water that remains.
Why try to organize the chaos?
Because the body–earth–home–sex cannot be separated from the divine spirit–earth–sacred. Because the ocean-body of matter needs to get in touch with the great impalpable spirit–soul.
To let oneself be penetrated for the omnipresent mother.
To let oneself be crawled over by insects.
To let oneself be whipped by bitter plants to purge melancholy.
To discover oneself human and goddess.
Immortal and insignificant.
Open one's holes to nature, like opening a door for expansion, like unveiling the secrets of our roots.
Like shouting, lost in the mountains, in the middle of a deserted island, looking for the pack.
We are the flower that grows amidst trash and the destructive power that lost its direction.
We are the bleeding wound and we are the knives.
We are the aching souls, the daughters of the earth, who are trying to birth a shooting star to spread the light.
Thank you for being here, for bringing me to this place. Now I am full and happy.
Thank you for holding my hand until I reach the entry of this paradise where the water’s song fills all my senses and the light caresses me, atemporal.
I give us the space to exist beyond flesh.
I give us space to exist outside of the flesh. Here we breathe differently, and my tears from this morning's fuck flow down the slope. The river follows its course, each of us taking its own path.
From all we experienced, I keep the most beautiful image: seeing you naked, lying on your stomach, in front of millenary caves. I distract myself with the sacred geometries of the branches.
And when I turn back, you’re already gone.
If tonight I sleep on the flattest rock and the devastating force lifts me and shakes my body, I will die in the river’s embrace, and my soul will leave, joyful, to repeat the vital experience.
Nothing is more sacred than to relieve one's cosmic thirst, being carried away by the mountain’s glacial water.
Nothing is more spiritual than being violently fisted by your hand, feeling your ants crawling over my limbs, and your dry leaves exfoliating me until I bleed. All my vital organs throbbing.
Thank you for carrying me until my feet touched this earth, thank you for letting go of my hand when the time arrived.
I let you go.
I let the embers die out.
I have the universe left to satisfy all my hunger. I’m finding my center back.
I won't let the picture of you disturb my sleep, I won't let your wisteria scents mix up in my dreams.
Thank you for putting your fist in the right point of expansion. This orgasm is destined for the full moon, and for the rightness of my pelvis pressed to your knees.
The wind will soon erase all memory other than that of the forest where I saw you, stark naked, feeling protected by the stories Eleggua[4] told you.
I sigh, relieved in my river bed.
Soon it will be summer.
Rosario Veneno
[1] Mystical creatures. Archetypes that possess me, sometimes with my consent, sometimes destroying me [NdA].
[2] The impossibility of the desired body is not a detail, but rather the center of this story [NdA].
[3] Freedom for the souls trapped in sorrow [NdA].
[4] Yoruba deity. The one who opens paths, who has the power to open the door of communication between this world and that of the orishas. Represented by Stones [NdA].
Rosario Veneno (@rosario.veneno) - Argentinian performer living in Europe since 2016. Her works explores sexuality as a way of resistance, magic and queer feminity. Performer Artistic Director of Porn Sur Mars film festival (@prnsurmars). Teacher in Body self knowledge.
