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The Mystical Woman...

She’s…something else. There is no category. There are no words. But there are whispers that come in certain moments and overtake you—the way a fine wine does.

They crawl and coil, reaching like the smoke rings of fragrant incense, reaching into the deepest recesses of your being. They land like feathers, touching your skin with pleasure, while lighting you subtly on fire. And so the enchantment begins—because you are ready and willing to hold and behold her, this divinely feminine woman.

She shakes her hips and worlds tumble out of her thighs. Glance at the stars in her eyes and curvy mountain roads that span her body.

Touch her, taste her. Trace the edges of her silhouette. Bask in her entirety.

She is a woman and a tigress. A lover and a fighter. Weirdness and wildness combined with soft water and tendrils of wicked f*cking hot fire.

She seems contradictory, sure—but only to you. Because you are not yet comfortable dancing in magnitudes, straddling the seen and unseen, broaching both the mystical and fleshy, penetrating the veils of the in-between with two curious feet.

Well, get more comfortable—be brave—walk into those secret places where she leads you. And stay awhile… See what this divinely feminine woman can teach you.

She is a mystery. She slides into your life like silk. And she radiates something so supple that you’ve wanted all your life, but never knew how to speak into desire until your eyes fell upon her. And yes, maybe she infuriates you. Because she begs you to stop figuring everything out with your mind.

So find another way to know. A way that feels good, that brings pleasure and bliss and sweet, sensuous nectar to surround you, like lotuses blooming from thick, luscious mud that shines in the sun with incredible beauty.

Bow down and be drenched in the lightness and darkness of her femininity. See the magic that is written inside every single pore of her skin; in the cracks and crevices of her wounds, in her joy, her smile, her tears, and her hope that rises to lift up your spirits like vapor clouds hanging around ragged mountains, where only falcons roam. And let it point to all the magic that is inside you—all the strength, the confidence, the joy.

Enchanting, that’s what she is.

Praise her. Devote yourself to her. Commit to her. Oh yes, those are all good. But more than anything—RESPECT her. See her. KNOW her. And bare your soul accordingly.

In this, healing occurs—as she opens to you, as you surrender to her, as though her sensuous body is itself a healing balm. Because she is a woman, her presence can stitch back together the threads of your heart. It can rip you apart too, as all your masks and defenses fall, lifeless, to the floor. And your presence—your steady, loving, wild, and penetrating presence—it heals her, too.

But you have to trust this process.

Let her be who she is. Give her room to dive, to move, to dance, to write, to feel, to grow, to desire, to play, to be. Yes—give her room to be exactly who she is. To take up all the space she is meant to.

There is no better way to appreciate a woman. Surrender to the way she flows. To the way she consults the moon, her own heart, and cries rivers while reading succulent lines of poetry.

She is a mystery. So peel back the cheapness of your own expectations and be dazzled by the majestic truth of her.

She goes to the edge of the unseen and comes back, sweaty and wise. She dances to change the world. To feel it all. To love herself.

Bow down to her feminine prowess, and be proud to love a woman with your whole heart, soul, body and being.

Did you ever think you could love this deeply? That you could sway, stilted with joy, in the hot palms of ecstasy?

You can. Open your heart and expand to see, to hold, and to behold the power of a woman, the love of a woman. And all the joy the unity of masculine and feminine can bring.

Surrender to her, as she opens, unfurls, to you—the ultimate mystery.

Author: Sarah Harvey

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