Tag: amy

Categories
Podcast

Wonder Body and the Sense of Proprioception, or How to Find Your Nose

Season 3 of the Pleasure Lab podcast: The Sense of Proprioception
In this second full episode of Season 3, Amy and Alex talk about the sense of Proprioception. How do you know where your body is in space, in relation to the ground, to your nose. They discuss the sense, some of the hidden gems behind the drawing, as well as some ‘try this at home’ exercises to help you feel into the erotic potential of the sense of proprioception.
Resources mentioned:

Plus here’s your downloadable page for this episode, so you can color along with us.
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Music: Grateful to Little Dog Big Ears for their Creative Commons licensed music She Sees Mice (intro and outro). Make sure to subscribe in iTunes or Sticher. And give us a 5-star review in iTunes, it helps us reach more beloved explorers.
xo,
Amy & Alex

Categories
Newsletter

Rise and Shine

I spent some weeks in British Columbia earlier this month and, as result, been thinking alot about bread. They eat ‘alot’ of it here, or at least ‘alot’ by my standards. Now mind you, I love bread. Anyone who knows me knows I will probably ask for an onion bagel on my deathbed. But lately I’ve been trying to eat more veggies and legumes, and less bread. So I’d lost touch, sort of, with the magic of this material.
What I’m noticing is the complexity of the very matter that is bread. The way it has tenacity, wants to cling to its bread-like form despite being filled with holes and spaces.
I’m noticing the way tearing away a piece leaves as many crumbs outside my mouth–on my lap, my laptop, my floor–as it does crumbs and chunks inside my lips.
I’m noticing the holes, the tiny little portals carved out by the complexity of the relationship of flour and water and yeast, how they danced together in the baking, how they worked together to leave behind this holy thing for my sustenance.
I’m reminded of the ways we dance with others, sometimes creating resilient structures together, sometimes only leaving behind the echoing holes.
I’m in awe of these holes.
And grateful for them too.
xo,
Amy

Categories
Newsletter Poetry

the tender beauty

To me, spring seems ebullient but also fragile. This poem captured that sensation for me.
Enjoy,
Amy

Form & Void

For him [the autistic child], everything is form.
—Jane Kessler
Glory be to God for dappled things…
All things counter, original, spare, strange….
—Gerard Manley Hopkins
The boy is blowing bubbles
with his mother, shimmering orbs
that glitter and dance
on the face of the lawn.
He prances after them, staring
with the deep mirror of his eyes
as they pop and disappear.
Flapping his arms, he chases them
toward the garden cosmos,
their mauve and lilac gowns
of silk voile waltzing
in the breeze.
He orbits around his mother
as she dips in her wand,
produces these baubles
from breath and film.
The glassy bubbles rise in a swirl
of pink and blue, a moment’s iridescence.
This is the only magic the mother can conjure;
she cannot help him talk or say his name.
But they can do this together,
blow bubbles on a breezy afternoon,
make a strand of hand-blown beads
to grace the throat of the lawn.
— Barbara Crooker, author of Selected Poems