Seduction & Sobriety

Sobriety.

Ugh. So un-seductive.

Isn’t seduction supposed to be sitting in an opium den, slowly sipping smoke from a pipe, wearing a see-through brocade dress, making eyes at some beautiful stranger I will never see again after tonight?

“I know. It sucks. But that is just simply not the case,” says the Universe.

I’m sitting on an Amtrak train from Harrisburg to New York after a weekend of helping my mother-in-law move.  My husband is sitting across from me.  I’m tired.  I miss New York.  There is a peppermint patty in my purse, and truthfully, I want to inject the sugar into my veins with an IV.

As those of you who read my blog know, I am a recovering compulsive eater.  I use food like a drug.  I have come a really long way over the years, and have a generally awesome relationship to my body and the way I eat.  Sometimes, however, it comes back.

Here on the train, I have a hung over/sick feeling in my stomach from the cheeseburger I ate for lunch.  It came with a Diet Coke, chips, and so much mayonnaise you would think the thing was made by a diabetes drug company.  I feel bloated, and the last thing my body wants is more sugar and chemicals.  But the part of me that wants to numb out just wants to mainline that thing.

As I was purchasing it, these were some of the motivations that crossed my psyche:

“I can’t make it 3 ½ hours without sugar.”

“It’s a peppermint patty, not a Snickers.  It’s not that bad.”

“I can split it with my husband to make myself feel better about it.”

“It shows that I am independent, that I can make my own decisions” (see the next two paragraphs).

When we were leaving, my husband chimed in that he thought we maybe shouldn’t buy train station snacks because we ate a lot of processed food over the weekend (translation: please can we go to the farmers market when we get home and get some fresh veggies so we are not supporting/taking part in the downward spiral of junk food that is killing America?). My brain, however, turned him into my worst patriarchal nightmare: “What, are you some kind of freak? You can’t live three hours without a sugar fix? You’re lame. Fat. Unattractive. Weak. Stupid. Hopeless.” 

In buying the peppermint patty, I got to say fuck you to that patriarchal nightmare: “You think I’m fat now? Just you wait.  I’ll show you how fat I can be.  How much misery I can take.  I’m just getting started.  If you can’t take me like this then you can’t take me period.  Leave then.  Let me be alone so I can eat my way into a numb, miserable, isolated coma. At least it would feel different than this”. 

(Please note that none of this is happening on a conscious level .It is only in retrospect that I am able to identify these feelings clearly.)

Then I bring this patty, which now feels like a nuclear reactor in my purse, onto the train.  We are riding Amtrak, so of course we are delayed.  Part of me wants to eat through my purse to the patty.  But I hold off.  I am still feeling totally nauseous and I know that eating more sugar will only make it worse.  And that is just not what normal people do goddammit, so I’m not going to do it!

Finally, we board the train.  I sit in my own seat and listen to the song “Be Here Now” by Mason Jennings, breathing deeply and taking in the sunshine. “You are the love of my life” plays through the interlude.  I think to myself, “if God were singing this to me, would I eat that patty right now? It’s not that eating the patty is wrong or bad. It’s just that I know I don’t actually want it.”  When I slip on the suit of being the love of God’s life, I don’t see myself choking down something that feels like poison.  Okay.  Good to know.  And yet, every 45 seconds, my mind drifts to the ever-present ability to change what I am feeling in the moment with a substance.

You may be reading this thinking, “Jesus! Throw the damn patty out the window if you don’t want it! Or just don’t eat it!”  But see, that would be like trying to apply the rules of checkers to a game of chess.  By eating the patty, I get to physically act out several beliefs:

1. I am shit.  Eating this patty reinforces that, and then when I have the sick feeling in my stomach that comes from eating it, I can blame my problems on my belly, not reality. 

2. If I can blame it on my stomach that means it’s my fault.

3. If it’s my fault, I am the one in control.  If 1+1=2, and junk food + fat belly = being repulsive and repugnant, I can subtract one from the equation by drinking green juice for the rest of the day.  Yes, that is what I need, a good baptismal cleansing of kale.  Redemption, atonement, something to make me shiny and new.

After all, when you are shiny and new, things like delayed trains don’t get to you! Shiny and new means thin, beautiful and in control.  Thin, beautiful people don’t have to worry about their businesses being successful. It all happens by magic.  They certainly don’t have to worry that their nieces are getting older every day which means that once they finally have kids there will be an enormous age gap that prevents cousinly bonding.  They don’t have to worry about their parents being sad.  BEAUTY FIXES ALL.  IF IT LOOKS RIGHT, IT WILL BE ALL RIGHT. RIGHT???????!!!!!!!!!!!!

As a last ditch effort, I got out my computer to write to you.  Writing this, I can feel that the jig is up. The cat is out of the bag.  I know now that a peppermint patty won’t fix a single goddamn thing.  What I want and need right now is to feel the heartbreaking fragility of life.  To be nourished by how much my nieces love and admire me, and cope with the fact that someday they will be too old to fall asleep on my lap watching Mary Poppins.  To know that someday, members of my family will die.  And I will not only be able to handle that pain, but also the pain of seeing my family grieve, and that we will come out of it loving each other even more. I need to acknowledge that right now my husband’s own crib quilt from when he was a baby is in my suitcase. This makes calling the gynecologist to have my ovarian cyst checked out before I get pregnant all the more real and pressing.  And I need to be reminded that when it all happens, somehow, it will be ok. 

So.  Seduction.

What I have learned is that those opium den moments come and go, but they don’t fill me up for long.  Sacred seduction is about long lasting attraction and satisfaction. What is most attractive at the end of the day? The truth.  It’s not about having white teeth and perfectly painted toenails.  What is attractive is showing self-respect by giving in to the glaring, white-hot, electric, sometimes harsh-as-fuck truth, instead of just eating the crust off the pie of my feelings, and covering the gooey center with a tea towel to pretend it’s not there.  We all know that shit seeps through eventually.

After writing this, the feeling of my stomach wanting to be over filled, pulling like quicksand on anything and everything, has reversed.  I now feel extremely full, and can feel my stomach pushing back.  I can physically feel that I don’t need or want anything else in my body in this moment. That is not a feeling I had 15 minutes ago.

Sobriety, it appears, is extremely seductive after all.

Okay Universe, one for you.

Seduction & My Mother

At least I could seduce her into showing off her sparkly top

If I had to choose who has been the biggest teacher of seduction in my life, it would be my mother.  As a child, I could seduce her into anything - hanging out with me, playing with me, letting me eat cookies, doing death defying stunts on a jungle gym, etc.  As a teenager I further refined my skills by pleading with her to buy me clothes, take me to McDonald’s for dinner and let me stay out late.  I became increasingly successful over the years.

As I’ve become an adult however, she’s toughened up a bit.

My Mom is, in fact, the toughest nut there is to crack.  When I want her to do something, she is the one person I know that no matter how hard I try to seduce her, I can’t get her to break unless she wants to.  Even then, it’s like dragging a boulder up a hill.   

I was on the phone with her the other day talking about the possibility of her coming to my May Seduction Retreat. Of course, I deeply, deeply desire for her to be there. She feels like the travel would be too much right now.  She just had a major surgery a few months ago and it takes a lot for her to get to the Northeast from the South.  My instinct upon hearing this was anger. “If she knew how important this was to me, she would come.”  I had the impulse to boss her into it, plead for her to come, or act nonchalant so as to try to trick her into it.  But this, my friends, is not seduction.  Not in the least.

There is a belief we have been taught about seduction that if we do not achieve the outcome we desire, we have failed in our seduction efforts.  This puts seduction in the realm of control and manipulation, assuming that a master seductress can get anything she wants, whenever she wants, through some sort of sneaky, unseen power. In my eyes however, this would be a move of insecurity and lack of trust.  The move of seduction is not to assert control, it is actually an act of giving up control.

How do we achieve seductive success 100% of the time? We acknowledge that seduction is a two-way street.  What I want the most for my retreat is to have a room full of women who REALLY want to be there. So I said to my Mom “look, I want you to be there, but only if you really want it. I am trusting you to trust your own intuition.”  Instantly we both felt better.  In saying this to her I had taken the seduction away from manipulation and into a place of MAGNETISM.  Magnets have the power to attract, and they also have the power to repel.  Seduction is a practice in surrendering to this force.  If I had asserted that my Mom must come to the retreat, she would resent me and resent being there.  By releasing my attachment to the outcome, I allow for my truth and her truth to intermingle, creating a whole new outcome – one that is far better than anything we could dream up on our own.

Will she come to the retreat? Stay tuned.

Will you come to the retreat? I am on the edge of my seat.  

An Announcement That Just Can't Wait

This summer, I did a lot of biking around the city, both recreationally and getting places.  One day in mid August I was biking through Prospect Park and I saw something unusual.  It was a bright yellow leaf on an otherwise completely green tree.  I pedaled on and saw another.  I began to see them all over, some on trees, some on the ground.  The reason this felt so strange is because I usually don't notice the seasons changing until the trees look like they are all on fire.  This was strange, and it made me feel like something was coming. I felt it in my bones, like when a dog can sense that a storm is on the way.  Big change was on the horizon.

Leaves in Brooklyn

Big, big change has recently occurred in my life.  As a seductress, don't expect me to give you the goodies on what that change was until the end of this post.  If you are one of those instant gratifiers: go on, skip ahead.  But if you are the type who likes things slow, who likes to savor and hear the whole story, not just the one climactic detail, read on.

At the start of 2012, Kitty Cavalier went on sabbatical.  I stopped teaching, stopped writing blogs, all so I could focus on the busiest season at my job.  I adore my job, and I gave it my all.  We had a really great, successful season.  I also felt relief from not having to keep up with Kitty. "This is nice!" I thought. I had evenings and weekends all to myself for the first time in a long time. I would get home at the end of the day feeling satisfied, and ready to rest.

Then Spring arrived, and I heard a new song on the wind.  Seduction was calling Kitty out of hibernation. 

I first encountered seduction as a lifestyle after visiting Paris.  When I returned from my trip, a book caught my eye called La Seduction: How The French Play the Game of Life by Elaine Sciolino.  This book explains how in France, seduction is not just a game that is played by two lovers. It is a part of everyday life. Going to the market is an experience in seduction.  Negotiating a contract requires great knowledge of the art of seduction. This book changed the way I saw my life, and the way I pursued the things I wanted.  I began to see seduction not as a technique, but as a way of living.  When I am living in seduction I am acting from a place of total attraction. I am completely surrendered to listening to my intuition. I am unafraid to say an enthusiastic yes to the things I want, and to the things I don't want, I say no without regret.

There is a deep spiritual component to seduction. To practice it, one must see the big picture.  It requires great patience and trust. To practice seduction one must surrender to trusting that there is order in the unpredictable. In a world where you can text someone in Indonesia and receive an instant alert two seconds later once they've read it, it makes no sense to us when what we want does not arrive in our time.  We get frustrated and agitated, and think we must be doing something wrong.  This, right here, is the opposite of seduction.

One thing I know for absolute sure: seduction cannot be rushed.  What this means is that the chase is not something to become frustrated by, it is actually the best part. Rather than stomping out feet and getting down on ourselves for not making the things we want appear, seduction helps us to relax and savor each step of the journey.  There is a Chinese proverb: "Tension is who you think you should be, relaxation is who you are." This, right here, is the essence of seduction. 

Dancing through change

For a long time I was trying to figure out who and what Kitty Cavalier really was. I started out teaching burlesque, and I love burlesque, but I am not a burlesque expert. And burlesque is not my deepest passion.  My deepest passion is (new age jargon alert) serving the new feminine conscious that is emerging on this planet.  For the last several thousand years there has been a consciousness that everything about being a woman is wrong.  Damn our stupid periods.  Damn that we are the ones who have to suffer through the pain of childbirth.  Damn that we are so sensitive. Well, we all know this is getting turned on its fucking head right now.  Women everywhere are waking up to the truth that everything about being a woman is not only right, it is completely awesome. Our periods and the cyclical nature of our bodies? Awesome.  Being the creators, bearers, and portals to new life? Totally awesome. Feeling things so deeply that we tap into our intuitive, eternal senses rather than just logically trying to work them out? Rad.

Last week I finished my final day at my beloved job.  Many of you know I worked at Mama Gena's School of Womanly Arts , a school whose teachings I am incredibly devoted to.  This was not an easy decision, as this was my dream job come to life, beyond my dreams actually.  But seduction has finally seduced me.  I have decided to stop working and dedicate myself entirely to growing The School of Charm and Cheek.   

This is a big step, a huge risk, an enormous change, and an exhilarating ride.  We are coming up on winter, and I have some hibernating to do.  I am going to be going off the radar for a bit to create the next phase of the School of Charm and Cheek.  I'll still be blogging and teaching Qoya, but I am preparing to dive deep with seduction and I need time and space to do that.  This weekend, my diamond of a class: Seduction Is A Spiritual Practice,  is the last time I will be teaching seduction for a few months.  The reason this email is so urgent is because yesterday we sold out, but I ordered more supplies and figured out a way to take five more Seductresses. I don't want you to miss this chance.  If you are being called, jump in. I can't wait to seduce with you, this weekend, or whenever the stars bring us together.   

Look Mom, I'm In Penthouse!

One day you are wishing you could own a pair of feather burlesque fans, and then before you know it, you find your name in Penthouse.

Aren't wishes funny that that way?

A few months ago a woman came to my burlesque class to check it out. After the class she contacted me to say that she is an editor at Penthouse Magazine, and that she is writing a three page story on burlesque. And she wanted to feature me in the article. Me. In Penthouse.

It made me remember being a kid, every Saturday going to Stewart's gas station/general store with my family for an ice cream cone. As I was waiting for my family to receive their sundaes, I would wander around the shop with my black raspberry cone, sometimes stopping to look at the magazine rack. My eyes could never help but wander to the top of the rack, where the headlines of Playboy, Penthouse, and various other magazines wrapped in plastic lay hidden behind a cardboard insert, blocking their images from sight. I remember feeling that familiar tingle of intrigue and curiosity, mixed with a hearty helping of eternal damnation, wondering what lay beyond that thin piece of cardboard. I also recall feeling like I needed to go bathe myself in the baptismal bowl at church because of it.

Fast forward 20 years later to my office in corporate America, where and article like this would be my greatest fear come to life. Not even because of the nature of the magazine, but because not a soul other than my husband and a few friends knew about my burlesque performances. If the IT department had glanced at my internet history however, it would take them mere seconds to figure it out. I would spend hours at work looking at performer's websites, watching videos, daydreaming about costumes; quickly closing the window when someone would walk in, terrified of anyone discovering this part of me. Not because I thought it was shameful, but because I had so little faith that that could be for me. That I would have enough courage to live out this desire to be a part of the burlesque world loud and proud, a desire that was completely contrary to where I thought my life "should" be going.

Today, I couldn't be more proud of being featured in Penthouse. Believe me, five years ago when I embarked on this journey, if I had seen this article in my future I would probably have run the other way. But I held this sucker up with a grin from ear to ear on my last Skype date with my parents (selectively turning the pages), and they were so proud of me! Not just because it is my first piece of national press, but because it is a physical representation of how completely I have trusted my deepest truth, however and wherever it may lead.

Why is it that sometimes our deepest truths, the things we want more than anything in the world, are often the things we try most desperately to hide? What's up with that? Have you ever felt like there is a window in your soul that gets X'd out everytime someone walks in the room? Like you are sitting on a suitcase with something alive inside trying to get out?

I encourage you today to slowly unbutton whatever covers

your deepest truth, and expose as little or as much of it as you like. If you find your name in a piece of pornography someday as a result, you can always blame it on me.

http://penthousemagazine.com/features/glamour-girls-dangerous-dames/#id=I1_1313762396672&parent=http%3A%2F%2Fpenthousemagazine.com&rpctoken=465026298&_methods=onPlusOne%2C_ready%2C_close%2C_open%2C_resizeMe