Zone fucking

I was in my yoga class tonight. It’s an advanced Power/Ashtanga class with lots of wild balancing postures – things that even look unfathomable. Like balancing on two palms, my whole body perched on my tricep. I’ve been slowly getting better at these, but tonight I just stepped into each one and executed them. There was no thought involved. I just did them and was hardly fazed that I did.

I was in the zone, which I often experience in sports – like snowboarding and surfing and with work sometimes. Everything falls into place and exists on a slightly hyper-real plane. Every motion is pure grace and art.

There’s also that in the fuck. Maybe it’s chemistry in certain couplings that lends itself to getting there faster. Zone fucking. With others, you have to work a little harder to find it. But when you do, it’s ecstasy. Just sheer wordless flow and intuition, riding an edge and staying in the sweet spot where every touch, every angle shift meshes perfectly. A drop of his sweat on my arched back, his heavy lidded eyes, the heavenly taste of his cock in my mouth. All exist in slow motion. A gorgeous dance.

Afterward, I’m floating. A little shaken, smiling, my eyes starry and wild. Stumbling around the grocery store, dropping boxes of green tea. Sometimes I’m shaking for days afterwards.

It’s these moments I live for.

What are you waiting for?

ZSOLDT

Why are you all so afraid of
the only game in town?

Tear open your heart with both hands. Rip off your face. You
are the hero you've been waiting for. It's up to you:

sleepwalk until you fall down,

or burst into flame!
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