living the moment

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As promised, Matthew Temple, the deep side:

 

 

In certain circles we talk a lot about living in the moment. But what does it actually mean? There must be as many definitions as there are people. It’s an elusive and simple concept. Here are some of my thoughts.

 

Awareness

Being in the moment is about being aware—of yourself, of the world around you..and realizing they are one and the same.

 

Being aware of yourself can be a subtle act. Do I want to take a walk? Do I need to cum? Am I thirsty? Will a cigarette help me feel better? Will a drink?

 

Knowing these things about yourself—knowing them well and intimately—is part of living in the moment.

 

Being aware of what we call others is also part of being in the moment. If I am hiking, what is under my foot? What is over my head. Can I escape the tunnel of reaction-awareness and become more omni-aware? Can I become aware of things which seem at first to have no relevance to me? When I am speaking to someone, interacting with them, can I become aware of their body cues?—look at their lips, their posture, their manipulation of objects in our shared environment?

 

And can I become aware that she (the tree), she (the woman) are not separate from me? That we are pieces of the same, total organism?

 

I must be aware of everything..my self..my world..and realize that they are the same thing. (I may be inside the forest, but, also, the forest is inside me.)

 

Control/influence

In a sense, the only thing I can control is “myself”—what is contained within a bathtub. I can’t make the tree grow, I can’t make the woman kiss me. But to look at control in this way is too limited. For everything I do affects the world around me, so there is an influence—if not a control—that I exert on everything and everyone around me, and the reverse is true.

 

I am not even in control of my whole “self”—I do not control my stomach, my digestion. I do not control my subconscious. It is questionable, even, to apply the concept of control to that tiny little part of my brain that seems like “me.”

 

But there is no question that I influence myself and I influence the world around me—the environment, the people, the plants and animals.

 

This is a key concept of being in the moment. The moment consists of the influence and interaction of all that is close by me, all that is far away. The moment is not a static photograph. It is not a movie. It is an explosion, and it involves everything—that which you know, that which you do not know. Living in the moment is less like sailing a ship; it is more like dancing inside a bomb.

 

Everything influences everything. All that influence is the moment.

 

Action

This is about living in the moment, not knowing about a moment.

 

This is the wonderful part.

 

Whether you are controlling it or not, whether it is part of what you can call, “me,” or whether you are essentially part of something too large to ever use that term, you are acting.

 

Whether you like it or not.

 

You have no choice.

 

That’s what living is. It’s being on the roller coaster that never stops moving. It’s the continuous skein of motion of your body and your mind and your thoughts and your words.

And you can act in a way that reflects awareness and the reality of the universal influence of everything, or you can act like a dud—that is, act in a way that is unaware of the world and its wild garden/fusion bomb of activity.

 

Act in a way that reflects awareness of everything you know (“self” and “others”) and in concert with the dynamism of the fire and the ocean and the hurricane that we live in and I think you will find you are living in the moment, at least by this particular definition.

 

(Matthew TEMPLE. This post originally appeared in his blog on December 1, 2016)

Free hot read for a cold night

 

 

 

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‘I got mine. Go get yours!’

 

Wow, it’s been a great month. This week has been my best in a long time. Thanksgiving is over but that doesn’t mean I plan to stop giving thanks. If you’re over 18 and ready to move beyond erotica, if you’re ready for some ‘high-brow rumpy dumpy’ and you like your fiction hot, deep, original and funny, then grab your free copy of Verses Nature. Free for a VERY LIMITED period!

What was that? Yes, of course you may spread the word.

What? Oh, a review would be lovely!

Black Friday Black Books Special

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Get your devices ready for 20 + FREE books

written by African-American Authors.

Genres:

Christian Fiction ~ Contemporary Romance ~ Fiction ~ Paranormal Theory ~ Religious ~ Romance ~ Science Fiction ~ Suspense

Featured Authors:

Jai Bledsoe ~ K. Victoria Chase ~ Ja’Nese Dixon ~ C.C.Ekeke ~ Kahillah Fox ~ Olivia Gaines ~ Khardine Gray ~ N.D. Jones ~ Siera London ~ Reana Malori ~ Unoma Nwankwor ~ Pedro Okoro ~ Dana Pittman ~ Danyelle Scroggins ~ Joan Barbara Simon ~ DeiIra Smith-Collard ~ Seven Steps ~ L.J. Taylor ~ Katie Wilde

 

ENJOY!! (and spread the word!)

Whatever it takes

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Time for some new freebies. If you are not afraid to go beyond erotica… not afraid to read what  erotica sites have refused to publish…

 

if you want to know what a real insider from the BDSM scene let me in on, and how this has inspired my writing

 

then I have something for you…

 

(that photo; her face far too cute for naughty business? Naaa. You can’t tell a person’s inclinations just by looking at their face, can you? Now, take me…)

The Lonely Darkness vs The Dark Alone

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Who better than a sleepless writer to explain the distinction between the Lonely Darkness and the Dark Alone? Allow me, if you will.

The Lonely Darkness is tossing in bed until your useless, 800-thread-count sheets turn warm with worry and that Tylenol PM bottle—despite you swearing off sleep aids—beckons from the bathroom shelf. The Lonely Darkness is 2:38 am and dreams you can’t return to and the cruel trick of a bone-tired body and a churning mind, hopelessly bad at getting back to sleep, but effortlessly good at remembering affronts and dread diseases that run in your family.

The Lonely Darkness is every fear you’ve had since the pregnancy stick showed a plus sign. It’s teenage children. Their college applications. Your sister’s cancer. That unwritten book. The Lonely Darkness is the insomniac’s principal’s office where you are furious to have been sent yet again, while fully aware that the true punishment will come in your workday, as sleep-deprivation tortures you into stupidity. The Lonely Darkness is your epic demon.

Then there’s The Dark Alone.

The Dark Alone finds you waking up in a house hushed with the silence of a sleeping family. You peek at the clock—5:12 am—and count forward on your fingers from 11:30 pm. What? Six hours if you round up! (And you always round up.) Energized by this rare sleep achievement, you roll out of bed and reach for your sweatpants dropped on the floor the night before. You slip them on in the searing darkness of your bedroom, and, still sightless, feel around for your Rhode Island sweatshirt hanging inside the closet door. If you’re lucky, you can extract two mismatched socks from the clean laundry pile in the corner. If not, you resort to yesterday’s stretched, slightly pungent ones on top of the hamper. Sometimes you even like those better.

Finally, wasting no time, you steal out of the bedroom where your husband, who has missed maybe a dozen nights of sleep in your 21 years together, will not wake up for two more hours. Although he’s spent some time in The Lonely Darkness, he knows nothing of The Dark Alone. This is your territory.

Downstairs you rinse out the only mug you will use at this hour—the cracked purple one your kids painted a decade ago at Clay Dreams—and brew your dark roast (the beans, the heat, the cool dash of cream) that will taste better than absolutely anything else you put to your lips all day. Nearly trippy with gratitude for sleep and caffeine, you will carry your mug to your office, set it on your desk, open your computer.

And there they are, the thoughts, seeded by quiet, watered by dark roast, they grow in the fertile soil of the morning hours. They thrive in The Dark Alone, not unlike the way plants require sun. They vine and flourish. They flower. They fruit.

In the Dark Alone you may only write for one hour, but it is always the most productive hour of your day when nothing comes between you and your words. No one’s worry or radio. No cellphone. No child. In these morning hours, you will be awed by the power of your ideas to bloom, bold and vibrant on the stalk of your genius, growing in size and strength, until all at once the sun, like a burglar, breaks through the crack between shade and window pane. Still tapping away, head bent to the sound of your inner voice, you try to ignore that thin band of brightness, but then you hear an alarm clock upstairs, then another. Soon a symphony of rap and radio and shower noises ensue while you rush to hold onto what is fast slipping away.

Minutes later the light is full up, cast across the to-do list on top of your inbox. Your daughter stumbles downstairs. “We’re out of cereal!” she shouts. And your son needs a ride to early band. Your husband, who only ever wears matching neutrals, wanders into your office. “Does this tie match?” he asks.

“Perfectly,” you assure him. And with those first words, the spell is fully shattered.

“What time did you get up?” he asks.

He winces when you tell him. He doesn’t understand.

With that, you kiss him good-bye, shut your computer, and step beyond the now blurred boundary of The Dark Alone. You toast a frozen waffle for your daughter. You tell your son you’ll drive him. You check your phone. You nibble a cracker. You look at the house, the mess, the clock. The darkness hid a hundred needs, the way the light spares nothing.

Already you miss the Dark Alone, your secret place of creation. You can only hope it will be there again tomorrow.

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Sandra Miller‘s essays, articles, and short stories have appeared in over 100 publications including The Boston Sunday Globe Magazine, Spirituality and Health, and Glamour Magazine which produced a short film called “Wait” based on one of her personal essays. Kerry Washington starred. You can find out more at SandraAMiller.com. Or, if you happen to be up at 4am, visit her blog, www.nightmath.com, where Sandra reckons with all things nocturnal.

(originally published in Brevity Magazine)